


Nights 'Round the Table

by nina_vendredi, rhosyn_du



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Food, M/M, Merlin Modern AU, Multi, Romantic Comedy, San Francisco Bay Area
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_vendredi/pseuds/nina_vendredi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhosyn_du/pseuds/rhosyn_du
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Warnings:</b> Cults, closeted characters, bi-phobia, breaking and entering, public intoxication, casual drug use, casual sex, rough language, punk rock<br/><b>Summary:</b> San Francisco Bay Area punk foodie AU. When Uther buys a culinary-focused TV station for his new bride, Catrina, it's up to Arthur to get it cable-ready. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Arthur's idea of haute cuisine is putting your pizza on a plate instead of eating it straight out of the box. Featuring chef!Merlin, TV-exec!Arthur, patissiere-by-day-psychobilly-front-man-by-night!Gwen, and most-patient-and-understanding-PA-ever!Leon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to xsmoonshine, our lovely beta, to rosaespanola cheerleader extraordinaire, and to luisadeza for the fantastic art. Thanks also to all of our friends and loved ones who offered support and suggestions and put up with us babbling about this fic at parties for the past six months, to all of the other big bang participants for the commiseration and encouragement along the way, and to the_muppet for organizing this whole shebang.
> 
> [Art Master Post](http://luisadeza.livejournal.com/272916.html)

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/ZblzqEBwQRA)

Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon and presumed heir to Pendragon Broadcasting, was well on his way to being quite thoroughly plastered.

He hadn't _intended_ to get drunk, honestly, but after sitting in Bay Bridge traffic for over an hour (an _hour_!) and spending nearly that long trying to find someplace near the club to park his Miata where he could be sure it would still be there when he got back, he needed a couple beers. And another after Morgana chided him for driving in the first place ("Honestly, Arthur, why not pretend to be a sane person for once and take the train like everyone else who lives in the City?" Never mind that BART was full of drunk club-goers and people in desperate need of a bath at this hour.) and another after the tenth scornful look he'd gotten from one of the club's other patrons, as though _he_ were the weird one when half of _them_ had pink hair and metal spikes on their boots.

And then Morgana had told him to lighten up and handed him something a virulent shade of green, and because the whole point of this excursion was to cheer her up, he'd drunk that, too. Because that's what big brothers did. Part of the job, cheering up sisters when they were heartbroken. Although he was starting to think this was more a case of heart-annoyed-that-the-bastard-left-after-I-already-bought-tickets-to-this-show. But still. He was a good brother for showing up, regardless.

"Hey," he said as Morgana slid into the booth across the table, her face flushed from dancing, "I hope you realize what a good brother I am."

"What?" Morgana called over the wild screeching of electric violin.

Arthur leaned forward, pitching his voice as loud as he could without straining. "I said I'm a _good brother_."

Morgana frowned for a second, as though trying to process what he'd said, and then grinned. "I know!" she yelled back. "They're amazing, aren't they? I told you you'd love them!"

Arthur shook his head. "Not the band." Really, not the band. "Me," he yelled. " _I'm_ good!"

Morgana's smile widened. "I'm glad you're having fun!"

Arthur sighed heavily and turned his attention back to the antifreeze-colored concoction in front of him. It was the second one Morgana had brought him, and he still couldn't tell if the artificial green flavor was supposed to be apple or melon.

The violin built to a crescendo, holding on a high note, then ended abruptly. The crowd burst into cheers, and Morgana put a hand to her mouth to give a piercing whistle of approval. Arthur clapped because he was glad it was over.

"Thank you." The violin player's voice was monotone, a sharp contrast to the wildness of his playing, but a perfect match for his flat blue eyes. It wasn't exactly what Arthur would have called engaging stage presence, but maybe that was just down to nervousness. The kid couldn't have been older than twelve, and Arthur had no clue how he'd ended up playing at a bar, although he suspected that had been some of what Morgana was gushing about over the horrible canned music that was playing before the band went on.

For a long moment, the boy just stared out at the audience, then nodded sharply and turned to pack up his violin. The crowd's cheers increased, and Arthur tossed back the last of the neon green atrocity.

"Did you want another drink?" Morgana asked, her attention finally turning from the stage as the strange boy disappeared into the wings. "I was just thinking I could use another, myself."

"I'll get it," Arthur said, hurriedly pushing himself to his feet. Two was definitely his limit for sickeningly sweet green things.

The line at the bar was long, nearly everyone in the building wanting refills on their drinks before the next band went on, it seemed like. And, in keeping with the way his luck was running tonight, Arthur found himself at the tail end of it. By the time Arthur was close enough to actually see the bartender's face, all of the crazy violin kid's equipment had been cleared, and a tall man was sweeping down the stage.

"A Mai Tai and a large Fat Tire," Arthur told the bartender. Maybe if he got a full 20 oz. beer for himself, Morgana would stop bringing him green things.

"Elyan, I need three bottles of water and a Gentleman Jack, straight up," came a breathless voice from behind Arthur.

Arthur turned his best indignant glare on the interloper, fully prepared to deliver a lecture on politeness and not cutting in front of a man who just wanted his beer, but he was stopped by an apologetic smile. Or, more precisely, by the generous mouth doing the smiling. Or maybe it was the cheekbones, high enough to make any woman envious, but on a face that most certainly didn't belong to any woman. Or maybe it was the eyes, a brighter blue even than the summer sky and rimmed in heavy black eyeliner.

Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was most definitely not unpleasant to look at and Arthur was not entirely sober and hadn't gotten laid in _far_ too long.

Whatever it was, Arthur found himself glancing back to the bartender -- Elyan? -- with a cocky grin. "Why don't you make those drinks on me?"

"Oh," those fantastically full lips said. "Thanks, but..."

Arthur glanced up from that perfect mouth to see the other man brandishing a handful of drink tickets.

"I'm with the band."

"Right," Arthur said, hoping he didn't sound quite as much the fool as he felt. "The band. Well. Break a leg, then?"

"Thanks," the man said, gathering the bottles of water Elyan handed him into the crook of one arm.

"I'm Arthur, by the way," Arthur said.

"Merlin," the man answered. He flashed a grin. "Enjoy the show, Arthur."

"Oh, I intend to," Arthur answered under his breath, eyes following Merlin's retreating back. Or, more precisely, his retreating backside.

"Hey, mate," the bartender said, interrupting Arthur's prurient musings, "did you want your drinks?"

It was only then that Arthur really noticed the drinks sitting atop the bar. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled that they'd been there when Merlin was gathering up _his_ order.

"Uh," Arthur said, intelligently. "Yes. Um. Thank you." He hoped the generous tip he pressed into the man's hand was enough to keep him from noticing the flush in Arthur's cheeks.

As he wound his way back through the crowd toward Morgana, Arthur wondered what on earth had possessed him back there. He didn't hit on strange men in bars. Not anywhere it might get back to his father. Not where _Morgana_ might see.

He must, he realized, be drunker than he'd thought. Who would have thought those ridiculous green things actually counted for anything?

"There you are," Morgana said as he reached the table. "I wished you'd gotten back sooner. You just missed them."

Arthur frowned at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you even making sense?"

" _Mordred_ , Arthur," Morgana explained, in a voice that told him she, at least, thought he ought to know what she was on about. "And his aunts. They came over to thank me for coming. Morgause invited me personally, you know."

"Who?"

" _Morgause_ ," Morgana said impatiently. "Mordred's aunt. I just told you."

"Right," Arthur said, years of experience telling him that he was far better off leaving it at that than letting on that he had no fucking clue who this Mordred was, either. "Congratulations?" he tried.

Morgana sighed heavily. "Honestly, Arthur, sometimes I don't know why I even try."

"Mm," Arthur half-agreed. Normally, he'd have been at least trying to pay attention, but movement on stage had caught his eye just as Morgana had begun speaking, and he found himself unable to look away.

Merlin had ditched the baggy hoodie Arthur had seen him in earlier and replaced it with a vintage black leather motorcycle jacket, a perfect match to the leather pants that stretched quite nicely across his ass as he helped a scruffy-looking man wrestle an amplifier to the front of the stage. A second amp was carried across the stage by a man who had to be at least six and half feet tall and whose arms looked like he probably could have carried both amps by himself, and maybe Merlin and his scruffy friend, too.

There was a woman, too, doing something with a microphone and too many cables. She was pretty, Arthur noted distractedly, as Merlin and Scruffy Guy shuffled past her, with tight dark curls framing a kind face. She was wearing some 50's-style pink thing that Leon would have loved.

Another, slightly less scruffy man (why _were_ Merlin's friends all scruffy, anyway?) met the two at the far end of the stage, and started doing something with another mess of cables. Arthur tried not to feel too disappointed that Merlin wasn't bending over anymore.

"Are you even listening to me?" Morgana's voice was all exasperated amusement. "Or are you too busy leering?"

"What?" Arthur's head whipped around. "What, no. I wasn't..." He searched his mind frantically for a good excuse, anything that he could have been looking at on that stage other than Merlin's ass. "I mean," he said, remembering the woman in the pink dress, "I was just admiring her legs. In a gentlemanly fashion."

Morgana gave him a long, measuring look. "You were admiring her legs."

"Yes," Arthur said.

"In a gentlemanly fashion." She no longer looked amused.

"Absolutely gentlemanly," Arthur confirmed.

Morgana sighed. "If you say so, Arthur."

"Just so you know," he told her, "it's hard to take criticism seriously from anyone whose drink has two umbrellas."

Despite the apparent chaos, it didn't take long for Merlin's band to finish setting up their equipment. Arthur was a bit disappointed to see Merlin settle himself behind the drum set -- it was hard to properly appreciate a man's backside when he was sitting on it, after all -- but his disappointment was short-lived.

As the piped-in music faded away and the lights came up onstage, the woman in pink stepped up to the center stage microphone. She flashed the audience a quick, shy smile, and then the entire world exploded into music.

Arthur wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this bouncy, growling sound that made him want to get up out of his chair and dance, and maybe even sing along if he'd known the lyrics. Or maybe not, since they seemed to involve mass murder of some sort, and somehow he didn't think that would be quite so charming coming from him, even if he _were_ in a pink, frilly dress. He settled for tapping his foot along with the beat.

There was nothing shy about the woman in pink, now, as she half-flirted first with the other members of her band, and then with a few of the audience members sitting at the tables closest to the stage. Scruffy Guy was smirking at the crowd as his fingers flew across the frets of his guitar, and Not Quite So Scruffy Guy was cradling his upright bass like a man might cradle a lover. And Merlin... Merlin's face was rapt concentration, eyes focused on some point in front of him, his arms moving with almost boneless fluidity, drumsticks moving so fast they were a blur.

The song ended with a rhythmic cadence, and the crowd burst into cheers and applause.

"Hello, and good evening!" the woman in pink shouted to the crowd. "We're Lapping Tears." At least, that was what it sounded like to Arthur. What a _weird_ name for a band.

"And we," Scruffy Guy said, "are here to rock. Your. World."

Morgana leaned over as the band opened up their next song, and murmured in Arthur's ear, "You're right. She does have nice legs."

The next time Arthur made his way back to the bar, he ordered himself a whole pitcher of beer. He was pretty certain the bartender remembered him, and that he was still laughing.

By the end of the night, Arthur was well and truly drunk, and Morgana was far too pleased about that fact, smiling even as she complained about having to drive him and his car back into the City.

"Next time, take BART, and we can take a cab back across the Bay together," she told him as she gathered up her things. "You're just lucky I stopped after that Mai Tai, or you'd just have to leave your car here overnight."

"Morgana," he said "please stop talking."

"And miss the chance to see you make that face? Never."

"Fine. You keep talking. I'm going to go get some water. No--" he held up a hand to forestall her, "you stay here. I'll be right back." The room lurched in a somewhat nauseating fashion as he stood.

"Don't fall over," Morgana said cheerfully.

Arthur was very proud of himself for being able to flip her off without tripping over his own feet.

"Back again?" Elyan greeted him. "I'm afraid there'll be no more beers for you tonight. You've passed the point where I could plausibly convince anyone I thought you were sober when you ordered."

Arthur shook his head. "No beer. I'm done with beer." He kept shaking his head, partially to emphasize his point and partially because it was sort of hard to stop once he'd gotten started. "Need water."

"Water, I can give you," the bartender said, producing a bottle of Crystal Geyser. "That'll be three dollars."

Arthur paid, taking the bottle and downing it all in one go. It did nothing at all to soothe his turning stomach, but it did wonders for the headache that had just been starting in the center of his forehead.

When he turned away from the bar, the pink-clad front-woman for Merlin's band was behind him, along with Not So Scruffy Guy.

"Hey!" Arthur's mouth said without his permission.

The pair turned to look at him, and he very carefully did not ask if maybe Merlin was still around somewhere. "You guys were really great," he said instead.

"Thank you," the woman said, returning his smile. Not So Scruffy Guy gave him a polite nod, but looked wary.

"I mean it," Arthur insisted. "Really. Very good."

"Hey, are you guys coming?" came a voice from behind Arthur. "Percy and Gwaine are bitching about having to load everything into the truck themselves."

Arthur recognized that voice. He'd been looking for that voice! Well. For something that went with it, anyway. "Merlin!" Maybe that was a bit overly enthusiastic. "Um. Hey."

"I think you mean Percy's loading the van and Gwaine is bitching," said Not So Scruffy Guy.

"Gwaine loaded his guitar, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and the twin groupies that seem to be following him home," Merlin corrected. "Hey... Arthur, was it?"

"That's right," Arthur said. "I was just telling your band-mates here how much I enjoyed your show."

"You should have told us you were a friend of Merlin's," Not So Scruffy Guy said, actually smiling now and offering Arthur his hand. "I'm Lance."

"Nice to meet you, Arthur," the woman said. "I'm Gwen." She threw a questioning look at Merlin, and Arthur couldn't quite decipher the quirked eyebrow he gave her in return.

"Is this the first time you've seen us?" Gwen asked.

"Yeah," Arthur said, ignoring the way his stomach still roiled from a bit too much beer. "My sister dragged me, actually. I didn't think I'd enjoy myself, but..." His eyes drifted to Merlin. "But I really did."

"I'm glad," Merlin said. "You know, we're playing here again a week from Tuesday. If you want to come."

"Yes," Arthur said, too quickly. "I mean, I'll have to see if I'm free." God, he sounded like an idiot. And the edges of his vision were starting to go wonky, a sure sign that he'd had far too much to drink. He really ought to be going. But...

"Maybe," Arthur continued with exaggeratedly careful pronunciation, "if you're not busy after--"

" _There_ you are." Morgana's voice was heavy with exasperation. "For god's sake, Arthur, twenty minutes is not ‘right back.'"

Arthur fought down panic. How much of the conversation had Morgana heard? What had she seen? Not that he'd been _hitting_ on Merlin, exactly, and even if he had (which he hadn't!), surely Morgana couldn't have noticed from a distance, could she? No. No, of course not.

"I was jusht--" Arthur paused, tried again. " _Just_ telling these fine people how very much I enjoyed their performance."

For good measure, Arthur threw an arm around Gwen's shoulders and gave her a look he hoped could pass for lascivious. Given the way Morgana was staring at him, he thought maybe he hadn't quite succeeded. To say nothing of the way Gwen herself was staring at him. And Lance.

But Merlin... Merlin was staring, of all places, at Morgana, looking a bit stunned.

"Morgana?" Merlin said. "Am I really seeing Morgana Pendragon at one of my shows?"

Morgana's head snapped toward Merlin, her mouth curving in a tight-lipped smile. "I thought I recognized you up there, Emrys. Not a bad set. I hadn't realized you still played."

"On and off," Merlin said. "When I get the time."

"You two know each other?" Gwen asked, not-so-surreptitiously ducking out from under Arthur's arm.

"Yeah," Merlin said. "We're sort of...old friends."

"Classmates," Morgana clarified. "We went to college together. Didn't we, Merlin?"

Merlin nodded. "Introduction to Decision Analysis."

"With Dr. Taylor?" Gwen asked. "Merlin was still complaining about that class two years later when I met him."

"Hey, it was only a year and a half," Merlin corrected.

"It was worth complaining about for at least that long," Morgana said.

"Isn't Taylor the one Father got suspended for constantly trying to look down your shirt?" Arthur asked.

Morgana gave him a Look. "Thank you, Arthur. I love it when you feel the need to explain deeply mortifying incidents in my past to people I've just met.

"I'm Morgana, by the way," she said to Gwen and Lance. "In case you didn't catch that. And the drunken ass is, for better or worse, my brother, Arthur."

"A pleasure to meet you," Lance said.

"It's a shame Merlin didn't get the chance to introduce us sooner," Gwen put in.

"He's your brother." Merlin's voice was oddly flat.

Despite his increasing queasiness, Arthur forced a grin. "That's right. Arthur Pendragon, in the flesh."

His pronouncement didn't get nearly the reception he was used to. If anything, Merlin looked annoyed.

"How nice for you," Merlin said. "I'm going to go finish loading the van."

Arthur frowned. "I think--" he started, but he was interrupted by a troubled-looking Lance.

"I should help, too," he said, frowning after Merlin. "It was nice meeting you, Morgana. Arthur."

"I think--" Arthur tried again.

"I'm really sorry about that," Gwen told Morgana. "He gets like that sometimes after a show.

"I _really_ think I'm going to be sick," Arthur finally got out.

Morgana and Gwen both turned to stare at him, and the pitcher of beer Arthur had consumed earlier chose that moment to make a reappearance.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/9VXJYx1gD5A)

****  


Whoever invented 8 a.m. meetings, Arthur thought, ought to be shot. He smiled weakly at his father over the rim of his coffee mug and willed his head to stop aching. Or, at least, to stop aching quite so much.

"Good morning!" Morgana said as she breezed into the conference room.

Forget whoever invented early morning meetings, Arthur decided. _Morgana_ ought to be shot for being that perky and being able to look that put together at this ungodly hour. Especially when he knew damned well she'd been out every bit as late as he had the night before. _Especially_ when it was her fault he'd been out in the first place.

As she slid into her seat, Morgana grabbed Arthur's hand beneath the table and pressed two tablets into it. Arthur glanced down. Advil. Okay, maybe she only deserved to be kicked in the shins a couple of times.

"Now that you're both here," Uther said, "we can begin. I've asked you here today because I am entrusting you with a very important project. _Very_ important."

Arthur exchanged a quick glance with Morgana. It was never a good sign when Uther started repeating himself.

"You know you can count on us, Father," Arthur said, and Morgana nodded her agreement.

"I truly hope so," Uther said. "Because what I'm asking isn't just for me, or even for the future of Pendragon Broadcasting." A disturbing, almost beatific smile came over Uther's face, and Arthur thought with a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach, that he knew what was coming.

"It's for Catrina."

Arthur took small comfort in the fact that Morgana's cheerful grin suddenly looked much more like a grimace. It wasn't that they _disliked_ Uther's new wife, exactly... Well, no. Arthur thought maybe Morgana genuinely did dislike her, but Arthur liked her just fine as long as he never had to spend any time with her or ever talk to her at all.

"As you know," Uther continued, "she has quite a following among QVC viewers, who loved her series on kitchen appliances. The two of us discussed it, and we decided it's time for her to take her career to the next level."

"What does that have to do with us, Father?" Morgana asked, having regained her composure.

"I'm glad you asked. As of yesterday morning, Pendragon Broadcasting has acquired a local television station known as _Let's Eat!_ Obviously the name will have to go, but the station has a very strong following among local food connoisseurs, and I believe there is enough talent there to help make it a success as the latest addition to Pendragon Broadcasting's cable lineup."

"And you want Catrina to have a show selling kitchen appliances?" Arthur asked. It didn't really seem like much of a step up from QVC to him, but it was hardly the utter disaster he'd been imagining when his father first mentioned Catrina's name.

"No, of course not," Uther said, waving a dismissive hand. "She's going to be the host of the station's flagship culinary show. It's been in the works for months. We've already begun filming."

Morgana looked like her coffee had gone suddenly sour. "You've got Catrina hosting a _culinary_ show?"

"Of course," Uther said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You know how much she loves to cook. It's a natural choice."

"But--" Morgana protested.

"I won't hear any arguments," Uther said. "It's a done deal. And Arthur, I'm putting you in charge of the project."

"What, me? In charge of a cooking show?"

"Not the show," Uther said, obviously starting to lose patience. "The station. Despite its current popularity and the extra viewership that Catrina will undoubtedly bring with her, it's going to need some work before it's cable-ready, and this is the perfect opportunity for you to start taking on a more active role in the company. You'll want to add at least one other new show to the station's lineup to start, and another three or four at least over the course of the first year.

"Morgana," he continued, "given your experience with some of the more... unique aspects of culinary culture, I expect you to act as an advisor to Arthur for this project."

"Given my knowledge and experience in both culinary culture _and_ managing a television station," Morgana said, "wouldn't it make more sense to put me in charge of the project? To be blunt, Father, I don't think overseeing your pet baseball team for the past three years really gives Arthur the skills he needs to make this venture successful.

"No offense meant, of course," she added as an aside to Arthur.

"None taken," Arthur answered. He would never admit it aloud, but Morgana _did_ have experience better suited to this project. Arthur's idea of fine dining was eating pizza off a real plate instead of straight out of the box, and he really didn't see any problem with that, as much as it seemed to pain Morgana.

Besides, any project revolving around Catrina was likely to have Uther hovering like a particularly neurotic mother hen. No, Arthur was more than happy to let Morgana try to talk Uther into letting her take the lead on this one.

"Your experience is precisely why you won't be heading this project," Uther said. "We need a solid station here. Nothing flashy, and, quite frankly, Morgana, your culinary preferences are not something that will appeal to the heart of the American viewing public."

Morgana's lips compressed to a tight line. "You really believe I'd let my personal agenda get in the way of running a successful station?"

"Not intentionally," Uther conceded, "but you can't deny that you're very passionate about your views, and Pendragon Broadcasting can't afford to take the risk of you losing your objectivity when it comes to this station. Besides, Arthur needs to get more involved in running and maintaining our networks if he's going to take over my position when I retire."

"I see," Morgana said. "So, this is all about making sure Arthur is the perfect heir to your empire. I should have guessed."

"Father," Arthur broke in, having no interest at all at getting in the middle of _that_ discussion again, "I appreciate your confidence in me and your desire to help me improve my skills and knowledge, but I agree with Morgana. She's clearly the better candidate for leading this project."

"Arthur, I have tried to give you as much freedom as I could," Uther said. "I let you go to school on the other side of the country. I let you oversee the   
[Giants](http://cdn.cosbysweaters.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/barry_zito_san_francisco_giants.jpg) after I bought the team. And I did all of these things because I know how hard it is to be a leader, to have to step up to the plate and take charge of things, and I wanted you to have some freedom before you had to take up such a heavy burden of responsibility.

"But it's time, son. It's time for you to start becoming the great leader I know you will someday be. And it starts here, with this television station."

Arthur felt his determination to dodge the project slipping away as Uther spoke. There was nothing quite like a little parental guilt trip for motivation.

"I understand, Father. I'll take the project."

"Of course you will," Uther said, smiling. "And if you fail, Morgana can take over."

"Take over the project?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, certainly the project. At the very least."

Arthur could feel another headache coming on, and it was not at all helped by Morgana's suddenly speculative look. By the time Uther had finished outlining the details of the project, Arthur was fantasizing about more painkillers and a cool glass of water.

"You know," Morgana said in a low murmur as she gathered up her notes with unnecessary slowness, "if you're going to prevent this from being a complete train wreck, you'll need to come up with at least one _good_ show to balance out Catrina."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Arthur told her when he was sure that the elevator down the hall had closed completely behind his father's back. "She can't be as bad as all that. You're just a food snob."

"You weren't there for Fourth of July," Morgana said, and it was almost an accusation. "She used _cooking spray_ on the _barbecue_ , Arthur."

Arthur didn't really see what was wrong with that. Cooking spray was just oil, wasn't it? Was it bad to put oil on a barbecue? "Ah, well..."

"Butter-flavor," she continued, eyes narrowing. " _Artificial_ butter flavor."

Okay, that... was maybe a little bit on the strange side.

"But don't worry," Morgana said with a sudden, determined smile. "I'm sure you'll be able to develop a fantastic new show. After all, I've got your back."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Arthur muttered.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/IYl0uLrXP7U)

****  


Arthur had managed to find himself a dark corner in the studio that allowed him to both see the filming of _Home-Like: With Catrina Tregor_ and hide from his father. He had known Uther would hover, since he doted on Catrina to an excessive degree, but it was still surprising behavior from a man who made detachment into an art form. It wasn't that Uther was inattentive to his properties or uninvolved in his investments, just that the man preferred to hire the perfect people for their positions and if they turned out to be less than perfect, he quickly and effectively ruined their careers. To witness Uther second guessing everyone from the director to the rather timid looking intern holding cue cards had to have everyone convinced they were all seconds away from being fired and they would all be reduced to working at gas stations in the Central Valley. Arthur shuddered, wondering if that's where he was headed as well if he failed in this project. He was pretty sure he had enough of his own money saved and invested, and he owned his condo, so worst case scenario he'd end up at Footlocker or 24 Hour Fitness.

Of course it was while absorbed in his internal monologue on the disastrous route his life was about to take, given how little he knew about food, and absorbed in thoughts of whether he would be able to earn commissions from his inevitable retail career, that Morgana found him.

"Why, dear Arthur, you look positively stricken. I would have thought Catrina's cooking to be right up your alley," she said, leaning in close to his ear.

In truth, he hadn't noticed Catrina's cooking. He looked, since he knew it was likely that Uther would interrogate him over the details soon, but he honestly didn't see any difference between this and the few other instructional cooking shows he had seen over the years. His confusion must have shown on his face. Morgana's expression had traveled from smug to appalled.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Morgana, it can't possibly be that bad. Father knows a good investment when he sees one."

"Arthur, Uther has made his fortune by never underestimating the lowest common denominator of the American public."

"Are you suggesting that our father has married the lowest common denominator? Because that's probably not a good opinion to have of our step-mother."

She glared at him. "Her sets match her clothes _and_ the predominant color scheme of the dish. She doesn't even match for taste, she goes by theme! And I think she's drunk..." Morgana's words tapered off as she stared at the set.

Catrina was clutching what looked to be a bottle of vodka and there were six other bottles of alcohol on the counter near a bowl that seemed to be holding their former contents. As Arthur watched, she put the bottle down, picked up a cup and dipped it straight into the bowl. He could just make out the phrase "Time for party punch!" before she downed the cup in one go. Unfortunately, Arthur knew Morgana's speechlessness wouldn't last, so he attempted to change the subject.

"About the band we saw... the one with the pretty girl in pink."

"Oh yes, I remember her. Don't tell me _you_ fancied her?" There was something vaguely threatening in her voice, Arthur was sure of it.

" _What_? No, of course not."

"Good." The genuine relief on Morgana's face set Arthur's teeth on edge. "Don't think I've forgotten what happened last time you tried dating a woman."

"I just figured you would remember her before you'd remember anyone else in the band." He was never sure if Morgana's claims of bisexuality were an attempt at trendiness, or as a cover for her lesbianism.

"Did you," Morgana replied. Sometimes he was certain she could hear his thoughts. "I'm honestly surprised you remember anyone that was there that night. That was quite a performance you gave, Arthur."

"Hey! I remember. I just wanted to know if you had... if they had any albums. I'd like to buy one of their albums. "

"Have you given any thought to the show you're going to develop?"

"Why are you changing the subject?"

"Guinevere works in a restaurant in Oakland that is very likely to be the next big thing."

"Who on earth is Guinevere?"

"The lead singer for Lapin Tueur; you met her. You just said she was lovely. You _ruined_ her shoes. I knew you didn't remember."

"No, I... just..." He demurred as he felt a weight settle on his shoulder.

"Arthur." Uther had snuck up on them. The man could be silent as a cat when he wanted to. "Morgana."

"Father," they replied in unison.

"I saw that pitcher of yours on _The Loco Show_. Have you begun preparations for his inevitable stint in rehab?"

"No, Father, I don't need to. Valiant just likes the publicity, he's not actually on drugs." And it put bodies in seats. Attendance was up 20% because of "The Snake." Arthur would have to put together a report to send to his father charting ticket sales, before Valiant came up from the minors and after the Pennant win, since judging from Uther's expression, he was not convinced.

"Arthur, Albert Godwin's daughter Elena is in town overseeing her father's new venture in Napa, I have informed Godwin that you would be delighted to entertain her. I spoke to Leon about your schedule and he has written her in for 8pm on September 13th. Reservations have been made for you at Gary Danko."

Arthur tried not to react. "Of course, Father."

"Glad that's settled. I must get back to work. I want everything perfect for Catrina. Isn't she wonderful?" Uther didn't wait for a reply, just returned to terrorizing the lighting assistant.

While Arthur was used to Uther's demands, Morgana apparently felt the need to pick which battles Arthur fought. "Why would you let him do that? Don't you see what he's trying to do? He wants you to breed with that woman."

"Morgana, it's one dinner for networking. That hardly counts as expecting us to _breed_. Besides, is it so wrong that he might expect grandchildren someday? "

"Well, Arthur, I suppose it depends on whether you intend to marry a young lady of his choosing, or if you'd rather find someone who gets your rocks off. "

"What... I... how, what is that supposed to mean?" He thought he was quite successful keeping anything like panic out of his voice.

"You do know I love you, right? That I'm here for you and I'll never judge you, but if you don't grow a fucking pair when it comes to your love life, I'm going to have to shiv you for my sanity."

Morgana waved him off before he could respond. "As I was saying before Uther demonstrated that we may need to have a lawyer declare him incompetent in the coming months, if you want to save this network, you'll need to produce shows that have _not_ been hand picked by Uther. I happen to have a couple of restaurants for you to visit that are both phenomenally camera-ready, and willing to do nearly anything for publicity. Both Ambrosia and The Blessed Cafe are in the East Bay. I'll have Aglain coordinate our schedules with Leon; they can make the necessary reservations."

"The East Bay again, Morgana? Why on earth do you go there voluntarily."

"I know you live in mortal fear of hippies, but you're on a deadline, and I don't actually want to be put in charge of this fiasco if I can't fire _her_ ," she said, glaring at Catrina. The woman seemed to be mixing Cool-whip and butterscotch pudding mix together and pouring it into the hole in the center of a store-bought angel's food cake. She watched in horror for another minute as Catrina opened a can of cherries, before pulling Arthur into a hug.

"Some of us don't have an off-season, and have to get back to work. Don't forget what I said about shivving you," she said as she walked off.

" _I_ work in the off-season," he shouted after her, only to be run out of the studio himself for ruining the take.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/UJGGzunxHmE)

****  


After a week of negotiation, Leon and Aglain had successfully coordinated Arthur's and Morgana's schedules for not one, but _two_ dinners in the East Bay. Arthur was feeling put out by it. He'd prefer to stay in the City and in civilization, since there couldn't possibly be anything so special that it would require him to cross the bridge twice in one week. Although he supposed there might be something to it. Surely no restaurant in the City (also known as civilization) would allow cameras to invade their space on what would have to be insanely short notice. Maybe he should just think of Oakland as the Minors, where people with promise went to train and learn the demands of being a pro, before they got called up to the Majors and got to work in _real_ restaurants.

Of course, all the planning in the world _didn't help him find parking_. He was reminded yet again, why he hated coming out here. They couldn't just build parking garages. No, he had to park blocks away on some sketchy side street and risk a mugging. He considered himself lucky when he made it to Ambrosia without being accosted.

The host stand was empty when he entered, so he shot off a quick text to Morgana to let her know he had arrived. Since he had his phone out, he assumed it wouldn't hurt to look at his schedule for tomorrow and double-check his email; he would be offline for the next hour or so, after all. He knew he could trust Leon to take care of emergencies, though the only likely emergency would be Valiant deciding he needed to wrestle the sea lions.

"Sir, do you have a reservation?"

He looked up to see the hostess had returned. She was a small woman, with dark hair and eyes, and an accent that he couldn't place. He was also fairly sure he recognized her from the club, which he supposed wouldn't be too unusual, if the singer also worked here. Of course her coworkers would turn up to cheer her on.

 __  


"Yes, sorry. Pendragon for two."

"Of course, sir. The rest of your party is already here. If you'll just follow me." He saw Morgana as soon as they entered the dining room, but he followed the hostess anyway. As he took his seat, she handed him [a](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a343/kakueba/ambrosia_menudra-1.png) menu, and began the introductions.

"My name is Freya. Welcome to Ambrosia. Your server tonight will be Morris, and Lance will be with you shortly with our wine and beer list. Our specials are a Carpaccio of Welsh black beef fillet with picked ginger, served with parsnip chips, or pan-fried trout stuffed with fresh herbs, wrapped in bacon and served with crushed new potatoes and roasted vine tomatoes. The soup today is potato leek."

While she spoke, someone came to fill their water glasses and leave a carafe for the table. Arthur could hear him mutter something to Freya in a language Arthur didn't recognize, and that seemed to have too many consonants, and she responded in the same. So it really wasn't English then, he'd have to figure out how to bring it up in some way that wouldn't be completely embarrassing, which would mean to someone _not_ Morgana. ...Who was currently giving him her patented "there's something wrong with your head" look.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work," he said as soon as Freya left them alone.

"Valiant's gimp friend made another public appearance then?"

"‘The Machine'? No, he's in Bali. It's this project." Diverting Morgana with real world problems was always the safest course of action. "I get the whole, ‘let's make some TV!' concept, but why are we here, again?"

Morgana sighed. "You, Arthur Pendragon, are going to talk to whomever is in charge and you are going to ask them, if they had the opportunity to appear on national TV, what format they would like to appear in, and then you are going to do the same thing at The Blessed Cafe, and if either of them are kind enough to take you up on the pitch, you are going to bring in cameras and make some magic."

"Ah, okay. I suppose that is the best way to get this done quickly." He hated to give her the satisfaction of knowing he needed her on this. And judging from the way she rolled her eyes, he didn't need to tell her.

"Just look at your menu, Arthur."

Before he could do more than open it though, the bass player from the band was asking if they wanted to look at the beer and wine list.

"Lance," Morgana practically purred. Arthur wondered what ridiculous thing she was about to ask him to do. "Guinevere tells me you trained in France to be a sommelier."

 **__**   


"I did, although we're better known for our beer pairings here than for our wines. We do have some lovely choices, whichever you're interested in."

"Do I really have to choose, then? I can see the merits of both. I'm going to get the souffle, so maybe a nice hoppy ale with dinner and a sweet wine for dessert?"

"An impeccable choice, but are you sure you want both? Not many people recommend mixing your drinks."

"I am. They're both too tempting to turn down, and besides, I like to live on the edge." Morgana was looking like the cat that got the canary, but Arthur had to give her credit for buttering up the staff, even if she _was_ going to be unbearably smug about it.

"I'll just have a Fat Tire. Thanks." Arthur resisted the urge to count how long it took Lance to break eye contact with Morgana, but it did happen eventually. Before he could resume his earlier conversation with Morgana, the waiter had come and taken their orders. Yet _another_ person he recognized from the club had delivered their drinks.

"Does everyone in, and fan of, Lapsang Tea work here?"

"First of all, it's Lapin Tueur, it's _French_ , and secondly, yes, I think everyone in the band does work here, except the guitarist. He works at some dive downtown."

"Wait, so Merlin works here, too?"

"Oh, you remember Merlin's name but not Gwen's." She was glaring again.

"It's just..." He thought fast to divert the conversation from why he really remembered Merlin's name. "You said you were in the same class."

"Yes, Arthur. That happens on occasion when you are enrolled at the same university."

"But you went to Stanford."

"Yes Arthur, your point?"

"But why, if Merlin went to Stanford, is he working here?"

"Because he likes it, because it's the family business, because he decided not to go the dot com route? I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

"But, that makes no sense, you don't waste that kind of degree."

"God, Arthur--, sometimes I swear you sound just like Uther. All I know is, he was getting a degree in Chemical Engineering, there was some weirdness with his frat brothers, and he fell off the face of the Earth. I didn't hear anything about him again until I saw him at the club."

He wasn't sure which part of that he wanted to focus on, and went with the part where she said he was like their father. He thought Uther was a great man, really, but he'd always thought he was his own person, and the idea stung more then he wanted to admit.

"Why does being surprised that he would give up a prestigious degree make me like Father?"

"Because it's never occurred to him that even with all the planning in the world, sometimes what will make you happy isn't doing what's expected of you, or even sticking to what you thought you wanted. It's taking a chance that you'll lose everything in order to get what you need. And I worry that it will never occur to you, either."

"Morgana." Arthur was completely unsure of how to respond. Of course that was when their food began to arrive.

The first course was soup for Arthur and something called a wild greens salad for Morgana. The soup surprised him; from the rest of the menu and what he'd seen being served to others, he'd expected it to be heavy, probably with chunks of potato, but it was delicate and cold, certainly the best vichyssoise he'd ever had. On the other hand, since he'd only had it at event type dinners, for awards, fundraisers and the like, he wasn't sure if ‘ the best he'd had,' was a glowing recommendation.

Whenever he looked up to Morgana to try and continue their previous conversation, she glared, but otherwise she looked enraptured just eating her salad. He wondered if it was a put-on; she couldn't actually _like_ being vegetarian. How much joy could a person get from only eating salads? He was sure it was just one more way for her to pretend to be morally superior to him. When they did talk again it was kept to safe topics: work, but not the new station, Morgana's mother's escapades as a designer and her hopes for her Spring line, Arthur's attempts to keep the team's rivalry with LA from escalating into property damage.

When their main courses arrived, however, the mood changed again. Morgana's eyes went a little glassy and faraway when she took the first bite of her soufflé. She looked up and around the restaurant like it was the first time she was seeing it, and as she took another bite, her face went from bliss to something between confused and agitated, but soon returned to bliss. Arthur wondered if maybe she'd had a break with reality, something caused by too many salads, maybe not enough protein getting to her brain, but he stayed silent, not ready for her to possibly push too hard with things he didn't want to think about again just then.

They ate the rest of their meal mostly in silence, punctuated by occasional sounds from his sister that could only be described as moans, which made Arthur feel distinctly uncomfortable. Yes, his meal was delicious, but he didn't think it warranted Morgana's extreme response. He had again been surprised by what he had expected to be simple mashed potatoes to find they had the sharpness of some kind of cheese, garlic, and an herbiness he couldn't figure out, coupled with a gravy that seemed to be made from beer. When they finally set down their forks, Morgana leaned back in her chair with the self-satisfaction of someone who had been properly laid.

Arthur leaned towards her. "For fuck's sake, you're being obscene," he said, hissing out the words.

"Oh, Arthur, you have _no_ idea. I can't believe how easy it was to get a table here. The wait for reservations should be months at _least_."

"Morgana, it's just _food_. Don't be ridiculous."

She gave him a condescending, pitying frown, and stood up, putting her napkin on her seat. "I'm going to find out who we need to speak to so that you can have your show. Try not to embarrass me with your lack of interest in the subject matter, please."

And with that she headed off towards the bar and as he watched, struck up a conversation with Lance. It wasn't too long after that Lance disappeared into what Arthur supposed was the kitchen, and Morgana returned to their table.

"Apparently everyone on staff works on Tuesday nights as part of some team-building exercise, which means that Gwen will be joining us shortly since her assistant is here tonight, and some of the others will probably join us when they can slip away."

Almost as soon as she had said it, Gwen was angling one of the empty chairs at the table closer to Morgana so she could face Arthur, and sliding into it. In her white chef's coat, she hardly seemed like the same girl he saw last week on stage. Her curls were mostly hidden by a close fitting cap, and what didn't fit underneath was caught in a loose bun at the base of her neck.

"Hi, Guinevere, right?" Arthur said, reaching out to shake her hand. She stretched across the table to take his, and then seemed to think better of it, pausing to grab a towel from her back pocket, wiping both hands off, and _then_ reaching back.

"Sorry, yeah. You can call me Gwen. Everyone does. I mean, all my friends do, or, I hope we can be friends... The mess -- it's the desserts, sorry. I'm the pastry chef. It gets everywhere."

"No problem. I'm glad for a chance to make a second impression."

"Oh! Yes, Morgana told me you were having, um...Thanks for offering to replace my shoes. I just don't really have the time to get to the City and replace them."

Morgana was giving him the "agree or I will shiv you" look, so he figured it would be in his best interest not to question what exactly Morgana had said about him or promised on his behalf, and if replacing a pair of shoes that he admittedly did ruin was all it would take to smooth things over so they could film here, he was willing to have Leon make that sacrifice.

"Of course, I'm happy to replace them. It should have never happened in the first place."

"I suppose I should be thanking you, though, since it gave me and Morgana an excuse to exchange numbers."

"Glad I could help. Morgana needs to get out more." Not that that was strictly true, but most of Morgana's friends were in entertainment in some way, which meant Uther gave her a hard time for not maintaining a professional distance, since someday she might have to fire them. Arthur had it easier with the players. They either retired or got traded. If anyone did something drastic enough to get fired, the press coverage and their likely league suspension meant it never came as a complete surprise.

"I'm sure we can help keep her occupied," Gwen said, giving Morgana a smile that widened as Lance pulled the other chair at the table to Morgana's other side. Arthur felt a bit as if he were facing a committee, which was odd. He was fairly sure the three of them had only met the once. There absolutely no reason to feel like they were presenting a unified front.

"How come it's not absolutely impossible to get a reservation here?" Morgana asked. Arthur did not understand why she deemed the topic important.

Gwen smiled. "It's because Gaius Emrys is still known as the executive chef. I mean he's good, he's really _really_ good, but it's not going to make news, so everyone thinks it's business as usual. We've got our regulars, and good reviews on Yelp, and no one knows that the next Thomas Keller is our sous-chef."

"Wouldn't your sous-chef have had enough of a following that people would know he was here?" Morgana asked.

"This is the only restaurant Merlin's ever worked in, and Gaius is his uncle. Why would anyone know? I mean, I agree they should, but short of bribing bloggers to come here and check out what Merlin's done for the menu, I don't see how they would have found out."

"So, you need publicity." Arthur made it a statement, not a question. "It wouldn't take much, either. Maybe as little as ten minutes of air time to get the buzz started." Arthur still wasn't sure if he'd devote a whole show to this place, but compilation shows were popular and cheap to produce, so it would be in his best interest to set someone on creating a few.

"I'm sure if the word got out the two of you were here, we could get a mention in the society pages." Merlin joined them, grabbing a chair from a neighboring table and sitting on Arthur's side, facing the others.

"Oh, Merlin, play nice. You're just jealous that you keep turning down your chances to be in them yourself," Morgana chided.

"You know me, Morgana. I live for fame. It's why I'm here and not at Dow."

"I always did wonder why you left."

"Plastics are yesterday's news, Morgana. Food and rock ‘n roll are where it's at now."

"Did the band come first, or the restaurant?" Arthur interrupted. Merlin seemed much less hostile then he had the last time they'd met, and Arthur hoped that by steering the conversation away from Morgana's questions, he could keep it that way.

"Oh, the restaurant," Gwen said. "The band was Gwaine's fault."

"Yeah, Gwaine said that everyone he's ever slept with is either in a band or a cult, and since Gwen, Percy and I didn't want to give up all our worldly possessions, we figured we should get on that band thing." Merlin looked like he might be joking, but when Gwen reached over to punch him on the arm, it was more playful than offended.

"Lance isn't on that list?" Morgana asked, giving the man in question a once over.

"No, our Lance is the only completely straight arrow in our quiver," Merlin said, laughing.

"Didn't stop Gwaine from trying. We couldn't let him feel left out of the band, though -- so I took one for the team." Gwen leaned into Lance as if to reassure him.

"Are you guys always this shameless?" Arthur asked smirking. He was only amused by the display, not _remotely_ interested in Merlin's apparent lack of straightness.

"Did you see _Ratatouille_? They had a guy who killed someone with his thumbs in a kids movie. This business is crawling with deviants." Merlin wiggled his thumb in what Arthur could only interpret as misguided attempt to turn it into a believable weapon.

"Ratawhat? I don't know what you're talking about, Merlin. Why would I care about a kids' movie?" Arthur wasn't sure how they'd gone from shamelessness to children's entertainment.

"I wouldn't say that too loud. Someone from Pixar might hear you." Gwen looked side to side quickly as if making sure they were safe.

"And that matters, why?" Arthur knew Pixar was somewhere on this side of the bay. He couldn't have survived in either of his industries and not have at least vague awareness of them. He'd never been fond of cartoons, though. Uther found them frivolous, despite having an appreciation for the sheer profit that could be made off of them with all the associated merchandising and low production costs, although he had to admit, Pixar never skimped on its budgets.

"Arthur has no Bay Area pride at all." Morgana rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, how many of you are actually natives." Arthur made a show of looking around the table skeptically. He and Morgana had grown up mostly in Marin, although she'd had several stints globetrotting with her mother. If it would add to his credibility, he would take native status.

"Merlin is. Grew up in El Sobrante and everything." Gwen nodded,

"Gwen, you don't even know where El Sobrante is," Merlin said fondly.

"Sure I do. It's somewhere over there," she said, gesturing behind her.

"What about the rest of you?" Morgana asked, deftly directing the conversation.

"Well, I grew up in La Jolla," Lance said. "I moved to Oakland after I got back from France, thinking I could work here while I looked for something permanent in Napa, and I just never left."

Gwen went next. "I moved out here from Ohio with my brother. Our dad's a programmer, and we thought we'd give the family business a go out here, but it was right before the dot-com crash, so it didn't work out very well. By the time there were tech jobs again, we'd both decided we didn't want to go back to it. Elyan's a bartender, and I'm here."

"I'm sure Morgana's told you all my secrets by now," Merlin said, his grin implying that he didn't mind in the least.

"I don't know if anyone knows all your secrets, Merlin," Morgana said with a smirk.

"What am I paying you people for if you're going to sit here lollygagging with with your friends?" The speaker had the same accent as the hostess and the server, but it seemed milder, as if he had been in America for a long time. Arthur tried to put on his best ‘I'm a professional, trust me' face, since he assumed he would have to convince the owner he wasn't wasting his staff's time.

"Gaius Emrys, owner and Executive chef of the greatest and possibly only Welsh fine dining restaurant in Oakland, meet Arthur and Morgana Pendragon, heirs assumptive to Pendragon Broadcasting. Arthur was giving us advice on publicity." Merlin said as he hopped out of his seat and grabbed another chair from the neighboring table and guided Gaius into it.

"Morgana asked where you were earlier, but you didn't answer your door when I knocked." Lance said.

"I was taking my glaucoma medicine," Gaius said indignantly. Merlin snorted, and Arthur realized Gaius meant the kind of medicine that you smoked. He supposed Gaius's eyes _were_ a little bloodshot.

"Gaius taught me everything I know. He trained under Escoffier himself." Merlin's grin was bright and endearing, and it made Arthur feel slightly breathless. He was beginning to suspect that Merlin knew his smile made people think he was far more innocent then he was, and that it actually meant he was deliberately doing something he knew he shouldn't. It appeared Gaius at least was immune to the power of it, however -- if his eyebrow was anything to go by.

"I'll make you clean the deep-fryer if you don't behave, Merlin." Gaius seemed to realize that neither Morgana nor Arthur understood the joke. "Escoffier died well before I was even born. But you would do well to study him, young man. Your sauces are appalling."

"You only say that because I don't see the point in doing them the French way."

"I should send you to Geoffrey to be his saucier until you learn to do them right."

Merlin made a face that seemed to be an impression of Gaius. Gwen was giggling and sliding out of her chair, and Lance was smiling indulgently at her.

Two things struck Arthur, then. One, that nearly everyone in this restaurant, from the moment you walked in the door, was almost ridiculously attractive, and two, that Merlin and Gaius's mentor/mentee rapid-fire banter was the kind of thing that won writing awards. He knew that he needed to keep looking, that he couldn't just offer them a show without seriously considering all his options. But it was a hard thing when all his instincts were telling him a show here, with these people, would be a sure thing.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you had a show on a nationally televised cable channel devoted to food, what would you want it to be about?" he asked. Looks of skepticism were exchanged among the Ambrosia staff, but in a show of good faith, they went along with him.

For the next hour they talked about ideas, from Gaius doing the traditional cooking instruction style show, to a reality show with a confession booth where they all promised to hate each other for effect when the cameras were rolling. Well, Merlin promised. Gwen went off on a tangent about how Lance couldn't hate anyone if he tried, and she would never be able to face her mother again if she was rude on TV.

Then the conversations turned to gossip and local food lore. Gaius turned weepy for a moment recounting his tragic love affair with a woman named Alice who left him to found her own restaurant. Merlin told a tale about a local critic named Timothy Kilgharrah, who everyone called The Great Dragon, for reasons that were left unexplained, and who was notoriously cranky, to the point that the legendary five chefs to garner good reviews from him had formed their own club called the Dragonlords.

Freya came by long enough to tell a story of when she had been sixteen and her mother was the hostess. She had been instructed to come to the restaurant to get some money so she could take their cat to the vet ("A vicious black hell-beast," Gaius interjected), but the cat had escaped it's carrier, and they'd had to evacuate all the guests. Three people had needed stitches. Everyone had stories to tell about various local celebrities and big name stars who lived locally, and the chaos they brought along with great sales.

Eventually, Morgana began telling tales about their stepmother's culinary creations, which had everyone in hysterics. Arthur had tried to defend Catrina half-heartedly, saying that her cooking wasn't that bad, which resulted in everyone looking at him with complete disbelief.

By the time they left, the restaurant was empty. Freya had been hovering so impatiently to be able to close out the register that Gaius had announced the meal was on the house and that Lance had best get everyone another round of drinks. Morgana said her goodbyes, giving Gwen and Lance hugs, and she must really have been tipsy because they lasted a little longer then necessary, but she didn't hug Merlin, just gave him a smirk and said she'd see him around.

Eventually everyone left to finish their closing duties. Arthur had the distinct impression that most of those duties had been pawned off on other members of the staff at Gaius's request, but they couldn't avoid them entirely. Merlin lingered for a bit longer though, ostensibly to escort Arthur to the door and lock up behind him.

"You should come back, Pendragon. And not for business... To actually learn something about food."

"Think you can teach me something I don't already know, Merlin?"

"Oh, you have no idea what I could teach you," Merlin said, closing the door with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/-BWBrcF7sWQ)

****  


"Good morning," Leon greeted, his eyes never leaving the large flat-screen monitor on his desk. "There's a fresh pot of coffee in the thermos on your desk, and your first meeting is in an hour."

"Cancel it," Arthur told him dropping his coat and satchel on the chair just inside his office door. "Cancel everything today, for me and for you. I've got an emergency on my hands."

Leon looked up from his work, concern written all over his face. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Morgana happened, and now I rather desperately need your help."

"Of course," Leon said, more wary than concerned now. "Just let me make a couple phone calls."

"You are a saint," Arthur told him.

"I am." Leon's voice followed Arthur into his office. "That's why you're planning to give me a sizable raise when reviews come up in January."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I was thinking maybe just an extra nice bouquet for your desk come Administrative Professionals Day."

"I shudder to think what your idea of a ‘nice' bouquet would be."

Arthur just grinned, and kicked back in the chair behind his desk.

Hiring Leon had been, without question, one of the best decisions Arthur had ever made. He'd heard other executives say their personal assistants were worth their weight in gold, but Arthur didn't think all the gold in the world could even come close to what Leon was worth. He anticipated Arthur's needs with almost uncanny precision, and managed to keep Arthur's schedule from getting unreasonably full without ever letting anyone feel even the tiniest bit slighted.

And, over the years, he'd come to be a good friend. Not that Arthur would ever tell him that, of course.

"Your schedule for the day is now completely free," Leon said just as Arthur drained the last of the coffee from his cup.

Leon fixed Arthur with a serious gaze as he closed the door to Arthur's office behind him. "What's the emergency? Am I going to have to bribe another amateur would-be photojournalist with Giants tickets again? I would have thought you'd learned to check your blinds before showering by now."

"It's nothing like that," Arthur reassured him. "I need your help with shoes."

Leon nodded as though this were a perfectly normal thing for Arthur to be asking about. "Just tell me what event you're attending, and I can find you something appropriate. It shouldn't take me more than an hour or two, really. And there was no need to cancel any of _your_ appointments."

Arthur shook his head. "Not for me. I need you to help me find _women's_ shoes."

Leon's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline.

"I went to a club with Morgana. There was this band. And this obscenely hot drummer, and this woman in pink. And did I mention Morgana?" Arthur was not whining. He wasn't. He was just... explaining. Yes. Explaining.

"And you're sure no amateur photojournalists were involved?"

Arthur gave Leon a withering look.

"Right," Leon said. "So, now you owe Morgana a pair of shoes?"

"Not Morgana. The woman in pink." Arthur pulled a photo up on his phone and handed it to Leon. "These shoes, to be precise."

Leon studied the picture, which Morgana had so kindly texted Arthur twenty minutes before his alarm went off that morning. He didn't even want to know why Morgana had snapped a picture of Gwen's legs that night at the club.

"Nice shoes," Leon said. "What happened to the pair in the picture?"

Arthur winced. He'd really been hoping that subject wouldn't come up. "I sort of... vomited all over them. According to Morgana, anyway."

" _Ah_ ," Leon said. "If you need to make up for that much of a blunder, I know exactly the place to find a replacement. Grab your coat. You can tell me along the way how you came to be clubbing with Morgana and throwing up on unsuspecting women with fantastic fashion sense."

By the time he led Arthur into a small boutique in the Haight, Leon was quite obviously stifling laughter.

"I'm going to start hiding little notes in your wallet," Leon told him. "Like ‘Don't accept drinks from your sister.'"

"I didn't hire you to leave me _notes_ ," Arthur said acidly. Although, come to think of it, that sort of was what he'd hired Leon for, more or less.

"Leon!" A slender, dark-haired woman greeted them at the entrance of the boutique, leaning in to kiss Leon on each cheek. "Darling, it's been ages. Where on earth have you been hiding? Don't tell me you've gone and let those hoity-toity bastards you work for keep you too busy for us common folk, hmm?"

Arthur threw Leon a betrayed look, but Leon was quite pointedly not looking at him.

"Bettina, you wound me," Leon said. "You know I would never let anything keep me from basking in the light of your charm."

Bettina let out a very unladylike snort of disbelief. "I see your flirting hasn't gotten rusty, at least. Now what can I do for you today, sweet?"

"Oh, not for me, dear lady," Leon said. "My friend here is looking for a replacement for a pair of shoes that got ruined. But," he added at the sight of Bettina's (quite put on, Arthur was sure) pout, "that doesn't mean I can't have a look around myself."

Bettina looked Arthur up and down. "Well, I don't know that we carry much that'll fit your style, but I'm willing to do my best for a friend of Leon's. What's your name, honey?"

"Arthur Pendragon," he answered, "hoity-toity bastard at your service. And I'm not looking for myself."

Bettina laughed. "Well, then, Hoity-Toity, why don't you tell me what you _are_ looking for, and we'll see what we can do."

"I'm looking for a replacement for these," Arthur told her, pulling up the photo on his phone. "Do you have anything like that?" He thought maybe some of the shoes in the front window display might be close, but his knowledge of women's shoes was pretty much limited to categorizing them into "professional wear," "athletic shoes," and "other."

A frown line appeared between Bettina's brows as she studied the photo. "I don't know if we have anything quite like that," she said with a dubious glance at Leon.

"Arthur threw up on that pair," Leon said.

Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. Maybe when he opened them, he would be in a world where he wasn't constantly being humiliated by friends and family.

"I see," Bettina said, nodding in understanding. Arthur wasn't entirely sure that _he_ understood, but if the woman could help him find a replacement for Gwen's shoes, he didn't really care what he might be missing. "What size are you looking for?" she asked Arthur.

"Size six and a half."

"Let me see what options we've got, then," Bettina said. "You boys feel free to browse."

"You didn't have to mention the vomit," Arthur muttered under his breath as Bettina disappeared into what was presumably a storeroom.

"I really did," Leon said. "Tell me about this drummer."

"What drummer?" Arthur tried for innocence, but the look Leon gave him told him he'd failed miserably.

"Back at the office, you said something about a hot drummer," Leon said, examining a pair of rhinestone-bedecked stiletto heels. "‘Obscenely hot,' I think you said. And yet, your story was sadly lacking in hot drummers."

Arthur shrugged, all nonchalance. "He was just the drummer for Gwen's band. And he is kind of obscenely hot, but they all are, really. The whole band is like some sort of ad for unbelievably attractive people."

"So, like our office, then?" Leon asked, moving on to a pair of dainty heeled sandals.

"That's different," Arthur said, waving a dismissive hand. "We're in media. Attractiveness is practically a job requirement."

"And here I thought that was only for people in front of the camera," Leon said. "And stop trying to change the subject. You wouldn't have brought up Sir Obscenely Hot if something about him weren't bothering you, and I'd rather hear about it now than when you worry yourself into a mental breakdown over it. No one wants to see you go through that again."

Arthur fiddled with the zipper on a pair of bright orange platform boots, not really seeing them. He was grateful that Leon at least hadn't mentioned Vivian's name, but he really hadn't needed _any_ reminder of that particular disaster.

"She's getting married, you know," he said after a few moments. "To a doctor. I saw the engagement announcement in the paper. There was a quarter-page spread of pictures."

"I saw," Leon said. "She looked happy."

Arthur looked up from the shoes, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess she really did, didn't she?"

"She did," Leon confirmed. "Very happy."

"All right," Bettina said, returning with a stack of boxes. "Like I said before, we don't have anything that's an exact match, but I found six pairs in a size six and a half that are stylistically similar and, from what I could see in the picture, would work with the outfit your friend was wearing with the shoes that got ruined."

Arthur eyed the boxes warily. He'd been hoping Bettina would bring him a single pair of shoes and tell him that hey were precisely what he needed. Maybe two pairs to choose from... but six was a bit more than he was prepared to handle.

Leon, however, took it all in stride. "You are truly a magic worker," he told Bettina. "Show us what you've got."

Bettina opened the first box and pulled out a pair of heels very similar to the rhinestone-encrusted monstrosities Leon had been admiring earlier, only these were covered in tiny metal studs instead of rhinestones. Arthur shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. Fashion sense or no, those things were _ugly_. If he bought Gwen ugly shoes, Morgana would never forgive him. "Maybe something with a little less...hardware."

"Less hardware," Bettina said. "For a girl in a rock band."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Less hardware for my sake."

"Fine," Bettina said, opening up the next box. "How about these, then?"

The next pair was definitely closer.

"Maybe?" Arthur said. "I sort of like the.." he trailed off, wiggling his fingers at the shoes in the hopes that his meaning would be understood.

"No. Too pink," Leon said, shaking his head. "And the bow is a bit over the top."

"Definitely over the top," Arthur agreed. "But I like the little... toe-hole... thing."

"I think he means the peep toe," Leon interpreted for Bettina, who was giving Arthur a pained look.

"Sure," Arthur said. "The peep toe."

Bettina pulled the next two boxes off of her pile and set them aside. "So, more like this, then?" she asked, pulling the lid off the box underneath.

The shoes had little silver studs like the first pair had, but only outlining the edges of the black leather. There was a small leather cord tied in a bow at the back of each shoe, with small silver beads hanging from the ends of the cord.

"Bettina, you are, as always, pure genius," Leon said. "Balmain wouldn't even have occurred to me. Arthur, you are buying these shoes."

"That's why I'm the professional, honey," Bettina said. "What do you think, Hoity-Toity? Will these suit your friend?"

"I think," Arthur said slowly, "those will do just fine?" They mostly just looked like shoes to him, but if Leon liked them... "Yes," he said, more firmly. "Those will do fine."

Bettina sighed, packing the shoes back into their box with the utmost care. "Some people just don't have the proper appreciation for fine shoes. I'll get these wrapped up for you."

"Thank you," Arthur told her, then turned to Leon. "And thank _you_. If I'd have tried to do this by myself, I'd have been at it all day, and even if I'd tried this place, I would have ended up with the pink ones."

"You can thank me by buying me lunch," Leon said. "There's a fantastic pizzeria right around the corner, and I know one of the guys who works the lunch rush, so I may be able to swing us some free coffee."

Arthur nodded. He'd been planning on treating for lunch, anyway. "I think I want to put him on TV," he said.

Leon frowned in confusion. "My friend at the pizza place? Don't you think you ought to at least meet him first?"

"Not _him_ ," Arthur said. "Although..." he paused thoughtfully. "Maybe him, actually. Morgana suggested something like a tour of local hole-in-the wall eateries, and good pizza is a staple food here. Do you think they'd be interested?"

"Possibly," Leon said. "Let me know after you've seen the place if you think it's a good fit, and I can contact the owner. So, who _did_ you want to put on TV then?"

"The drummer," Arthur said. "He's also a chef, and I think he might be really good. Morgana certainly seems to think so. And, like I said, everyone there is sort of unbelievably attractive, so they'd look great on film."

"I thought you said it was the band that was attractive."

"They work at the same restaurant," Arthur explained. "Most of them, anyway. It's a nice place, too. Cozy, but not too small. Nice atmosphere. The entire staff is practically dripping with charisma. It's like the place was made to be on television."

"So, what's the problem, then?" Leon asked. "You've been freaking out all week about finding a restaurant for your focus show, and it sounds like you've found one."

"I don't know," Arthur said, running a hand through his hair. "It's just, that night at the club, we were sort of maybe flirting a little bit."

"You and Obscenely Hot Drummer-Chef?"

"Yeah. Maybe more than a little bit," Arthur admitted, "and then I made a complete _ass_ of myself, and it turns out he went to school with Morgana of all people, and I just don't know if it's a good idea to try to work with him."

Leon fixed him with a sober look. "Listen to me. You are _Arthur Pendragon_. I have seen you face down some of the world's most powerful and terrifying executives, including your father, who is easily one of the most formidable men alive. You're a damned fine businessman, and I can't believe you're honestly considering passing up an opportunity like this because it might make your personal life a little sticky. That's not you, Arthur. You're braver than that."

"And what if my father finds out?" Arthur asked in a quiet voice. "About me. How exactly do you think Uther Pendragon, media god, is going to react to finding out his only son is queer?"

"Honestly," Leon said, "I don't think you give your father enough credit." He held up a hand to forestall Arthur's objections. "But even if he did freak out, even if he _disowned_ you, you know I'd be right there to help you pick the pieces up, and so would Morgana. She'd probably kick your ass for not telling her yourself, and so would your _entire staff_... There's a reason we all stick around, Arthur, and it isn't Pendragon Broadcasting's generous employee benefits package."

Arthur didn't really know what to say to that. He knew that his staff liked him well enough, and he worked hard to do right by them, even if Morgana sometimes teased him for worrying about it so much. But he'd never imagined they held him in the high esteem as Leon was suggesting.

"You can't live your life in fear, Arthur," Leon continued. "You know that. That's what _you_ told me the night you broke off your engagement. You said you couldn't live your life being afraid of who you were and you couldn't let fear stop you from going after what you really want. Are you really going to let fear stop you from making this show?"

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, then said, "You're right. You're absolutely right. About the show, anyway. I'm meeting Morgana tomorrow to check out another possible restaurant for the focus show, but even if they're somehow a better fit, I'm going to offer Ambrosia a spot. In a tour show, maybe. Because they're good at what they do, and I'm good at what I do, and I am going to make this the best damned television station on air."

"Glad we got that sorted out," Leon said, patting his shoulder. "Looks like Bettina's got your shoes wrapped for you."

"You really are a saint, you know," Arthur told him as Bettina rang up his purchase. "I'll even buy you _two_ slices of pizza, if you want."

>

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/Et7vbW0Hthw)

****  


Sooner than Arthur would have thought possible only two weeks ago, he was back in the East Bay. Berkeley this time. Again, he couldn't find a garage and had to deal with leaving his car on the street where anyone could vandalize or steal it.

On entering the restaurant, he fought the urge to roll his eyes, the walls were covered in ivy, and the floor was done to resemble a flagstone path. There was a display stand on his left, where various self-help books and natural beauty products were on sale, and on his right, a bony, mouse-haired woman waiting at the host stand. She smiled at him, wide, but vacant. "Welcome to The Blessed Cafe. Are you journeying on the solitary path this evening?"

Arthur blinked while he tried to parse that. "...I'm meeting my sister. We have a reservation under Pendragon."

"If you will accompany me, I will guide you to her." The hostess headed into the dinning room proper, with Arthur several steps behind. The restaurant seemed to be aiming for an idealized peasant cottage look, with its brick walls, wooden tables and large fireplace, but it was juxtaposed with what was probably supposed to be inspirational artwork. The images were all of women and multi-cultural children harvesting grain and sharing bread, accompanied with ridiculous text like "Can you surrender to how beautiful you are?" He never knew how to take theme restaurants. He supposed it could make for an interesting show, but he wasn't sure "hippie" would play in the heartland.

Morgana was, of course, already seated, looking less like a ruthless business woman and fashionista than he had ever seen her. She looked almost like she actually fit in in Berkeley, still wearing designer labels, but definitely dressed down from her norm. Morgana would accuse him of stereotyping, but he knew all about people in this town. They wore jeans to the opera. Everyone looked slightly homeless. He slid into the chair across from Morgana as the hostess left and a server with the same kind of empty smile came to give [them](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a343/kakueba/blessed_menup1-1.png) [menus](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a343/kakueba/blessed_menup2-1.png). As he looked through it, he saw that every item had a name like _I am transformed_ or _I am dazzling_. It might have been the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen, and he had run [_Bay to Breakers_](http://www.google.com/search?q=bay+to+breakers&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=l2f&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&prmd=ivns&source=lnms&tbm=isch&ei=I1w-TqSbPK3WiAKAt93DBg&sa=X&oi=mode_link&ct=mode&cd=2&ved=0CBQQ_AUoAQ&biw=1122&bih=559) three times.

"Welcome. I am blessed to attend to you this evening. My name is Tauren. May I offer you the tools to quench your thirst, both in body and in the mind?"

Morgana smiled up at him. "I am bright, for the body, and what do you offer for the mind?"

Confused, Arthur skimmed over the menu trying to figure out what she was talking about and saw that _I am bright_ wasapparently kombucha. He shuddered at the drinks menu; it was all algae this and wheatgrass that.

"For your mind I have this affirmation: you are the gardener who has nurtured your body and soul with essential nutrients and a healthy lifestyle. Much like the saying ‘April showers bring May flowers,' you will enjoy the fruits of your own caretaking. Everything in your life is coming up daisies!" He then turned to Arthur. "And may I quench your thirst?"

Arthur hoped neither of them noticed, but he felt like his face was on fire with embarrassment. "I'll just have the lemonade." It seemed safest. It was one of the only things on the menu besides the coffee that he would consider a beverage, and the coffee was "cold-pressed," whatever that meant. They both looked at him like he had something on his face.

"So you would like...?" Tauren asked.

"Arthur, say it properly, like it is on the menu," Morgana said, kicking him under the table.

He sighed. "I'll have the _I am refreshed_."

"Would you like an affirmation to quench the thirst of your mind?"

"No, the lemon-... What I've got is fine, thank you."

"The _I am adventurous_ today is spicy cucumber dill, made with avocado, and the special is pumpkin and squash couscous with habanero harissa. I'll give you some time to meditate on your choices."

"Thank you." Morgana turned back to Arthur as soon as their server had walked away. "Isn't it amazing? They have their own farm for seasonal produce, and they take a holistic life approach to health and offer self-realization classes."

"That's a little more then I expect from the place that sells me my dinner."

"Oh Arthur, you just don't understand. It's a whole world view about how we eat and how it's related to our care of the Earth and the strength of our bodies. It's really very enlightening. Morgause has been telling me all about how our ancestors lived in balance with nature. I mean, it's all stuff I knew, but that I didn't really _know._ "

"Well if we end up doing a show here, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to learn all about their worldview."

He looked over the unbleached recycled paper menu, attempting to find something he was willing to eat. The mission statement at the top of the page declared everything on the menu to be raw and vegan. He tried not to make faces. Most places in the City had vegetarian options. Everyone and their brother was on one restrictive diet or another. Any time he ate with Morgana, or dated, or socialized, 20 minutes were spent on what was or was not hiding in the recipe. He supposed a place like this would make it easier. All the ingredients were probably right there on the page. They seemed the type. Maybe it was something to jump on, a trend that would make him look like a visionary someday.

"I'm impressed, Arthur. I assumed you wouldn't even give this place a chance. Father wouldn't have."

"I'm not our father, Morgana." He bit his tongue and didn't tell her what he always didn't tell her. If either of them were just like their father, it was her. And it killed him sometimes, how much they both rubbed it in, in their ways.

"I know. It's just nice to see that confirmed."

He focused his attention to the menu again. There were familiar things listed, but he was sure they had said the place was vegan. Maybe they only meant unless otherwise stated. Otherwise, how would you be able to call something a BLT? As far as Arthur knew, bacon wasn't vegan.

By the time their server came back he was pretty sure he had figured it out, and placed his order with all the confidence that someone making a ridiculous statement about themselves could.

"I'll have the _I am hearty_." It was pizza. He didn't think even the worst kind of hippies could screw up pizza.

" _I am trusting_." Morgana handed her menu back, and Arthur fought the urge to snort at those words ever coming out of her mouth.

As soon as their server was out of hearing range, Arthur gave Morgana a look of disbelief. "I know you like that New Agey stuff, but why do they think they need to reinvent the menu? It's a fairly straightforward concept.

"It's not ‘New Age,' Arthur. It comes from something much older than that."

"Well. That sounds ominous."

"Don't be an ass. We have a lot to learn from our past, when we used to listen to the Earth."

"We also used to die off at 30. I don't get why everyone makes the past out like it's some fairy wonderland where humans lived healthy, magical lives. People used to die from hangnails."

"That's only true for the last 500 years. We've lost so much wisdom from our history."

"If it was so great, would we really have lost it?"

"We can't figure out half the things the Romans engineered, and that's with people who still study their language."

"Yes, and they used lead in all their plumbing and their execution methods were pretty effective. Tell me more about how enlightened the Romans were."

"I'm not going to do that. I mean, Romans also destroyed the Library of Alexandria, and who knows what we lost then. My point is, the reason Morgause and Nimueh built this place was to try and pass along the knowledge of things we have seemingly lost to history. Our biology still remembers, and by eating the way our ancestors did, we will be healthier, because we're _meant_ to eat that way."

She went on to explain to him about heat destroying important enzymes and how veganism was the only way to save the earth and live in balance with it. He had to admit that he tuned her out. He could appreciate that vegetables had the potential to be delicious, but giving up meat _and_ cheese just sounded like crazy talk to him.

Eventually, their food arrived. Surprisingly quickly, given that Arthur assumed they would have to plant it and harvest it in order for it to be served in the most healthy way possible. Morgana dug in, but apparently he had been wrong. Hippies _could_ screw up pizza.

"Morgana," he hissed, "there's no cheese on my pizza, and I don't have a clue what the hell this crust is supposed to be."

"I told you Arthur, it's _raw_ food, and it's vegan. Weren't you listening? The crust is made of seeds, because baking dough involves temperatures over 180 degrees, and that kills the enzymes."

"But you're a vegetarian, Morgana. I've _seen_ you eat cheese."

"Yes, and I'm going vegan, because I've been talking to Morgause, and she's been telling me so many things about the Industrial-Food Complex and how the enslavement of animals damages us all."

"But it's a _pizza,_ without cheese..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Arthur. Shut up and eat your dinner."

She pointedly ignored him while she ate. She looked like she was enjoying it, and while he hated to admit it, his was actually quite good. It just wasn't right to call it pizza. It seemed unethical; if you couldn't make a certain thing within whatever restrictions you imposed, then you shouldn't call it that thing. He was sure that, given time, he could come up with a good sports analogy. Like, if you took money to play ball, you couldn't call yourself an amateur, and if you didn't put cheese on it, then you shouldn't call it a pizza.

As soon as she was finished eating, Morgana stood up. "I'm going to find Morgause and request that she join us. Be polite, try not to act like a total Neanderthal, and so help me, if you don't at least pretend to take them seriously as a show idea, I actually will shiv you." She walked off, and left him alone to finish.

Not ten minutes later, Morgana returned to their table, accompanied by a hard-eyed blond woman.

"Arthur, this is Morgause. She and Nimueh are the owners of this restaurant, and they're very interested in being able to share their philosophy on food and wellness with the kind of audience our resources can provide."

"I'm sure they are," Arthur said standing up to shake Morgause's hand, hoping he sounded genuine. "It's a great opportunity."

Morgause sat and nodded at Morgana. "Your sister is quite special. She's been joining us in our classes and making great progress in breaking free from the chains of her oppressors. Although," she said, looking pointedly at Morgana's obviously expensive designer pumps, "there is still room for improvement."

Arthur frowned. Morgana had made him promise to behave, but he wasn't sure just what Morgause was talking about, since the prices on the menu made it difficult to comment on the materialism when it came to shoes. He might not pay much attention, but he knew veganism wasn't the cheapest lifestyle.

Morgana saved him from his confusion. "I know they're a tool of oppression, Morgause, but they do allow me to tower over people at work. I need to work on my desire to intimidate my underlings, I know."

Arthur watched as something like surprise passed over Morgause's face before it became placating again.

"Of course it is desirable that all people realize their equality, yet there will always be a need for leaders. I suppose it is true that you must work within the limits of your profession if you are to enact true change," Morgause said.

Before anyone could continue, they were joined by another woman, this one with dark hair, and startlingly blue eyes.

"Nimueh, this is Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon," Morgause practically purred.

Arthur didn't know how she did it, but it didn't sound sexy. It sounded like a cat finding a mouse it wasn't quite ready to eat yet. Nimueh didn't say anything; she just gave him a look not unlike the one Morgause had given him.

Arthur assumed that the only way he would make it out of here alive would be to state his intent and get the hell out as soon as possible. He didn't doubt that he could make a very interesting show about this place, but he wasn't convinced that he would survive the fallout with his father. But he had promised. He took a deep breath.

"So, if you had a show on a food-focused cable channel, what would you like it to be?" he asked.

Nimueh spoke first. "Well, it would have to be about the superiority of the raw food lifestyle. Although I'm sure we would have to add disclaimers in regards to your _other_ programming. Still, we must sometimes do things we find distasteful in order to accomplish our goals."

"What do you think about doing a cooking instruction show?" Morgana asked. "It would mean so much if more people could just see that it doesn't need to be hard to live healthily."

"I suppose we could also do an instructional show. We would ultimately need several shows, in order to fully educate our follower--...ing," Morgause said, looking thoughtful.

"Yes, and we would also need to broker book deals, and of course we'll need to found a magazine at some point." Nimueh added.

Arthur nodded, and then pretended his phone was vibrating. He pulled it out of his pocket carefully to keep anyone from seeing the screen, and the fact that there was no message.

"You've given me positive things to think about, and I'm sure we'll have a positive relationship in the future, especially since you've become so close to Morgana. But, unfortunately, I really must be heading out. My assistant just texted me to let me know of a rescheduled meeting first thing in the morning, and I haven't prepared for it."

Nimueh waved her hand and their server appeared as if by magic. "They need their check."

"Yes, priestess, right away," he said. Arthur preemptively handed him his credit card, and he disappeared again.

"Priestess?" Arthur asked, hoping he didn't sound wary.

"Oh, that," Morgause said, waving off his concern. "Several members of our staff attend religious services that we host, and forget that it isn't always appropriate for discussion with our customers. It's their little joke."

Arthur nodded. Their server came back quicker than he was expecting, so he signed, tipped, and stood up, surprised when Morgana and Morgause stood as well.

"I'll see you out," Morgause said, gesturing for them to lead the way.

"Thank you," Arthur said to her, because contrary to what people thought about him, he did have manners. "Dinner was almost enough to convince a meat eater like me." Convince him of what, he left out.

Outside, Morgana stopped him. "You behaved yourself better than I expected. Sometimes you surprise me, Arthur." She paused. "Are you really going to consider them?"

"If there's a market for it, I'll consider anything," he said as they went their separate ways.

 ****  


  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/eaKnRUfh_5I)

****  


Morgause slipped into the back office, closing the door behind her to keep the rest of the staff from overhearing.

"Did you see our esteemed guests off, then?" Nimueh asked, looking up from the paperwork on her desk.

"I did, indeed," Morgause answered. "Morgana seems as enchanted by our work as ever, but I don't know that we got through to the brother."

"These things take time, love," Nimueh soothed. "We must be patient if we are to succeed in our mission."

"We do not _have_ time," Morgause insisted, seating herself on the edge of the desk. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity sitting in front of us. Imagine it: our own television show, an hour a week on a major cable network to share the purity and bliss of raw vegan living!"

She grabbed one of Nimueh's hands and clasped it between her own. "Think of the lives we could change, the followers we could attract. This could be our chance to finally make real progress in tearing down the tyranny of the patriarchy and ending the cycle of human subjugation of nature."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Nimueh said. "I'm merely pointing out that we cannot push too hard. Arthur Pendragon is very much his father's son. If he knows we're trying to use him for our own purposes, he will run. We must woo him. Let Morgana do the pushing if there is pushing to be done."

"And if we cannot woo him fast enough?"

"Then we will have to consider... less gentle methods," Nimueh said, a vicious smile curving her lips. "It's best to do this sort of thing peaceably, but have no worry that I would let some man with carnivorous sensibilities ruin this chance for us, especially not the son of Uther Pendragon."

"All right," Morgause said. "I think I can be gentle for a little while."

Nimueh leaned forward, one hand stroking down the side of Morgause's neck. "I'm pretty sure I can convince you to enjoy some gentleness."

"Perhaps." Morgause smiled. "Although you know I don't mind it rough." She leaned in and nipped at Nimueh's bottom lip. "I don't mind it rough at all."

"I suppose," Nimueh whispered against Morgause's mouth, "we'll just have to find the time to try it both ways."

 ****  


  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/JxanTld0nRY)

****  


Arthur drove to Oakland (with the new shoes for Gwen in a box on the front seat beside him) the next day, before he lost his nerve entirely. He kept reminding himself that he was offering the spot to Ambrosia because it was the best choice on short notice. Not because the Blessed Cafe left him unsettled in a very deep way, and certainly not from any desire to get to know Merlin better. He knew they wouldn't be open for another hour, but he could only assume that someone would be there, getting ready for business.

He knocked, only to be faced with a glaring Freya.

"We're not open yet, you know." She said, blocking him from entering. Which he had to admit was a little funny, given how small she was, but he suspected there was a fierceness there, or someone else would have been in charge of turning people away from the door.

"Yes, well, is Merlin or Gaius around? I wanted to talk to them about the show."

"You've never heard of email or the telephone?"

"I'm on a tight schedule, and I couldn't take the chance of delay. Oh, and I have something I have to give to Gwen, too," he said, holding up the box.

She sighed. "We're in the middle of the family meal, but if you've not eaten, I'm sure someone will feel compelled to feed you." She stepped aside to let him in and locked up behind him. "Follow me."

She led him into the dining room and towards Gwen, gesturing to an empty seat next to her before Freya walked up to Merlin and poked him in the back of the head, interrupting his apparently deep conversation with several people Arthur had not seen before, and who were all dressed in matching short sleeved white shirts.

Before he could get distracted, he went up to Gwen and held the box out to her. She looked deeply confused as she took it from his hands, and her expression didn't change once she opened the box.

"These are..."

Arthur interrupted. "I'm really and sincerely sorry for ruining your shoes. Morgana would kill me if I didn't make it right."

"But they're too mu--" Before she could finish her sentence, Merlin had turned up at his side, carrying two plates.

"Sorry, Gwen, we've got to talk business," Merlin said, gesturing towards Arthur. "Follow me. It's too noisy to have an actual conversation in the dining room right now, as you can see. We're having the staff dinner, but we can hide out in Gaius's office." Merlin pressed one of the plates into Arthur's hand and started to lead the way upstairs. In the office, there was a small table to the side of the room, and a definite residual odor of pot.

Merlin grinned when he noticed that Arthur caught the smell. "Gaius just got his card, and he's been spending all his time up here ‘doing paperwork.' It means I have a lot more responsibility in the kitchen than he usually trusts me with, but it also means that I have to make sure to get all my specials approved before he gives me the eyebrow of doom."

"Gaius lets you do the specials?" Arthur knew he sounded incredulous, but he couldn't help it.

"Yeah. It's something Gaius lets me do to keep from doing anything too crazy with the regular menu, like using a blowtorch for charring lamb shank and stuff. As long as he checks my ideas over for cost effectiveness and likelihood of sales, he'll let me do just about anything I want."

"So, they're not something you throw together with leftovers, then?"

Merlin laughed. "Oh, no. I mean, yeah, he probably wishes I would, but Gaius mostly thinks that it's good for the restaurant, and that someday the word will get out to people that we're doing new things."

"So, I know we talked about a lot of things the last time I was here, and I thought that maybe, we, I mean..." Arthur still wasn't completely sure how to sell the idea of the show, or if at any point during the last conversation they'd had, if anyone here at Ambrosia was actually interested in being on television.

"You know you can ask me anything you want. Chances are pretty good I'm going to say yes."

"Maybe we should get Gaius."

"Gaius? I know you struck me as old-fashioned, Arthur, but you don't actually need his permission."

"It is his restaurant," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

"We're not doing anything in his restaurant, are we?" Merlin looked confused. Arthur suspected that was probably a common expression for him, if this conversation was anything to go by.

"Of course we would be. That's the whole point."

"Wait, what are we talking about?"

The door opened. "What are you miscreants doing in my office?"

"Gaius!" Arthur said, standing up. "Just the man I needed to see. I want to put Ambrosia on television."

"Well, I suppose you better work on your pitch, young man, if you expect to just come in here and have us agree without knowing your intent." Gaius moved past them and settled himself behind his desk. All the better to glare at the both of them, Arthur supposed.

"So, the idea." Arthur paused. He hadn't actually thought this far, but he could improvise. "I want to develop a show about daily specials and the process of creating them. From picking the ingredients, all the way to showing your customers enjoying it. We'd do thirteen episodes to start, with an option for additional seasons if it's successful. We can put our lawyers on the details if you're in agreement."

"What do you think, Merlin?" Gaius asked. "This would make you a personality. Are you prepared for that? I know you've had opinions about television in the past."

Merlin made a face, "I know what I've said, but in my defense, I was like twenty at the time and full of opinions. Percy will probably be thrilled, though."

"Percy?" Arthur asked. He knew they'd all mentioned the name repeatedly, but never explained who he was.

"He's our forager," Gaius said.

Merlin must have noticed Arthur's confusion. "He goes out and collects the wild foods that we serve and also hunts around farmers' markets for special items and gives us a heads up about what crops are looking like. He's also the only person with a van, so he's the band's equipment manager, too."

"Was he the guy with the arms?"

"Yeah," Merlin nodded. "Lance met him teaching a survival class and talked him into working with us. He grew up on a farm in Indiana or something, and was apparently special forces. It's all very hush-hush."

"You're kind of an idiot, aren't you?" Arthur couldn't help it. Something about Merlin just brought it out in him.

"You wouldn't be the first person to say it," Gaius said as he began rummaging in his desk drawer.

Merlin had worked up to a full pout, and Arthur could only hope to get out of the room with his sanity intact. Maybe he should just come to terms with Merlin being too attractive to work with. Gaius handed Arthur a business card.

"This is my lawyer. Give that to whomever you need to, and let's get this started." With that he stood up and left Merlin and Arthur alone again.

"Are you ready to be a star, Merlin?"

"Are you sure you want this to focus on me? I mean, Gwen's a genius, and Lance knows everything there is to know about wine pairings. I didn't get the impression that you knew a lot about food, and I just don't understand why you're so sure about this."

"Honestly Merlin, I'm _not_ sure, but rather than let the station launch with QVC host extraordinaire Catrina Tregor as our flagship talent, I'm going to take a chance that you won't humiliate me professionally."

Merlin frowned, as if he wasn't completely sure how to take that. "Before I agree to be your star, I want you to do something for me. Let me cook for you. Let me show you what a great meal can be. And if you still don't feel like good food is a spiritual experience, then will you at least think about focusing the show on someone else?"

"I would like for you to cook for me, and I promise that if it doesn't completely alter my world-view, then I will go find someone else to make famous."

Merlin hit him in the arm, "Fine, make me sound like a dumbass, but I'm going to hold you to it. How should we arrange it?"

"I'll have my assistant look at my calendar and call you. Do you need a special kitchen or anything?"

"Nope, I can work magic with just a skillet and a knife." He paused. "I should probably have a spoon, too..."

"If you don't mind coming over the bridge, we can do it at my place. I've got plenty of room and I've been over here a lot this month already."

"We'll figure something out." Merlin paused. "Let me take your plate back down to the kitchen, I've got to get to work anyway. Freya will let you out."

"Thanks. I look forward to you trying to prove your point." Arthur walked back downstairs where Freya was waiting, and out the door.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Morgana. "I've decided to go with Ambrosia. Would you mind letting the folks at The Blessed Cafe know? I think it would be better received coming from you."

 ****  


  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/5BmEGm-mraE)

****  


"Morgana!" Morgause greeted her, setting a cup of the Blessed Cafe's signature cold-brewed coffee in front of the other woman. "It's so good to see you. Acacia told me you were here; I hope you don't mind that I decided to bring out your coffee myself."

"How could I possibly mind?" Morgana asked, smiling. "You know I enjoy your company as much as I do your coffee."

"You'll have to tell me what you think of today's brew. It's a new blend Nimueh found from a fair trade distributor she met on her last trip to Costa Rica. If our customers like the flavor, we'll probably be replacing our old blend with this."

Morgana lifted the cup, breathing in the aroma of the coffee before sipping. "Oh, that's delightful. Definitely a keeper."

"You think so?" Morgause asked, pleased. She much preferred this blend to the old one they'd been using. There was a depth of flavor to the Costa Rican blend that was only enhanced by the cold-brewing process.

"Definitely," Morgana told her. "I don't know if I've ever had a cup of coffee I enjoyed as much as I'm enjoying this one."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear it. And how glad I am to have you here with us today, sister. Have you only come for coffee, or do you have time for some food and maybe to chat a bit?"

"Actually," Morgana said, suddenly serious in a way that told Morgause trouble was coming, "I came here to speak with you and Nimueh. I suppose I was procrastinating with the coffee. I was even considering trying the soup, even though I've already had lunch."

"There's no reason to be nervous, no matter what you've come to talk about," Morgause told her. "You have shown yourself to be our true sister in the work we do here, and whatever it is that's troubling you, I'm sure we can find a way to ease your mind. Come, why don't we take that coffee in back and get whatever it is you're so worried about out of the way?"

"Thank you," Morgana said, rising. "You have no idea how much your kindness and friendship mean to me."

Morgause smiled, and grabbed Morgana's hand to give it a quick squeeze. "Everyone here at Blessed is family, Morgana, and you are welcome in our family to whatever extent you wish to be a part of it." She released Morgana's hand to tap on the closed office door.

"Come in," Nimueh's voice came from inside.

"Nimueh, love, a sister has come to visit us," Morgause said, leading Morgana into the wood-paneled office.

Nimueh stood, coming around the large, oak desk to kiss Morgana on either cheek. "It is a delight to see you, sister."

"Thank you." Morgana's answering smile was faint and full of tension. "It's wonderful to see you, as well, but I'm afraid I've come as the bearer of some bad news."

"Sit," Nimueh said, her brow creasing in concern. "Tell us your ill news, and then perhaps we can see about brightening your spirits."

Morgause moved to sit beside Nimueh as Morgana took the chair closer to the door.

"I suppose there are more professional ways to do this," Morgana began, "but I felt I owed it to you to tell you in person."

She took a deep breath. "Arthur has decided to go with another restaurant for the show. I tried to get him to see reason, but he's convinced that someplace with a more traditional menu would be a better choice for the station."

"By ‘traditional,' I assume you mean ‘meat-centered'?" Morgause broke in.

Morgana nodded, her mouth twisting in annoyance. "The place does have few vegetarian options, and they are _good_ , but yes, it's primarily geared toward meat-eaters, and the only raw dishes are salads."

"You cannot blame yourself, sister." After some of the conversations they'd had on the topic, Nimueh's mildness surprised Morgause. "We know you did what you could, and we know that you will continue to aid us to the best of your ability, even if this particular instance didn't work out the way we all would have liked."

"I appreciate your understanding." Morgana shook her head sadly. "I wish I could be so accepting. My brother can be more than a bit hard-headed, especially when it comes to anything that involves challenging the status quo, no matter how rewarding it might be."

"It's an unfortunate truth that most people are afraid to explore new things," Morgause said, leaning over to give Morgana's hand a reassuring squeeze. "They're convinced that if the majority of people think one thing, then it must be the best thing to think."

"Well, I wouldn't say Arthur is quite that bad, thank god," Morgana said. "He's simply slow to accept that new things might be good for him. But at least the restaurant he's set on has better than decent fare. For about half a day, I was convinced he was going to go with some pizza place in the City that sells by the slice."

"It's a good thing he chose more wisely than that, at least," Nimueh said. "If he hadn't, I might have had to kill him for the insult." She laughed, but Morgause didn't think it had been entirely a joke.

"There's no need to worry about insult," Morgana assured them. "Even though I would have preferred that Arthur had chosen someplace with more progressive ethics, there's no denying that Ambrosia's menu is impressive."

Morgause started. "Ambrosia? Isn't that Gaius Emrys's restaurant?"

"He's the owner and executive chef, yes," Morgana answered, "but I get the impression that these days he leaves most of the creative decisions to his sous and pastry chefs. They're both really quite talented."

"I'd heard something about him bringing in some new talent," Nimueh said. "Something about a nephew?" She shrugged. "When I didn't hear any more, I assumed it didn't pan out."

Morgana nodded. "The sous-chef, Merlin, is Gaius's nephew. They've got a very devoted local customer base, but it hasn't spread much beyond that."

That name, Merlin, tickled something in the back of Morgause's mind. She knew she'd heard it somewhere before, and connected in some way to Gaius Emrys, but she couldn't quite bring it from the depths of her memory. She didn't _think_ she'd heard anything about the boy being a chef, let alone a good one.

"I imagine the family business angle would be a big audience draw," Nimueh said. "I do hope you believe me when I say neither of us harbors you any ill will in this, Morgana."

"I appreciate it. I wish things could have gone differently."

"We all do, sister," Morgause told her. "But our movement is strong and growing stronger every day. Even if this opportunity has not turned out as we had hoped, I know that in the end we will prevail."

Nimueh nodded in agreement. "And you can also help us out by keeping us in mind for any future television opportunities. Perhaps once the station better established, your brother will be more open to including those of us who don't fit easily into mainstream ideals."

"Of course," Morgana said. "And I fully intend to keep coming back to enjoy your coffee."

"You'd better," Morgause said. "It would be a shame to let such a little thing come between you and the best coffee in town."

"In town?" Morgana asked in mock surprise. "You're far too modest. This is easily the best coffee in the entire East Bay."

"Now you're just flattering us," Nimueh said, smiling.

"Coffee is far too serious a matter for flattery," Morgana said.

Morgana's phone trilled, and she glanced down at it. "And on that note, I should probably run or I'm going to be late for a meeting." She smiled at Morgause. "Could I possibly impose upon you for another cup of this delicious brew for the road?"

"Of course," Morgause said, rising and taking the empty cup Morgana handed her.

She met Morgana back at the front of the cafe, a travel cup full of coffee in hand. "Take care, sister," she said, handing her the coffee.

"I will," Morgana said, reaching out to give Morgause's arm a quick squeeze. "And you, as well."

"Don't be a stranger," Morgause called after her, smiling.

As soon as the door swung shut behind Morgana, Morgause's smile disappeared so quickly that it might as well never have been there. She remembered now where she had heard the name Merlin Emrys.

She reached out a hand and grabbed the arm of the passing waiter, nearly upsetting the tray he was carrying.

"As soon as you've dropped off that food, bring a bottle of the house brew honey wine to the back office, and then keep watch over everything out here. Nimueh and I have much to discuss, and I don't want to be disturbed unless the building's on fire or someone's bleeding to death."

Nimueh was waiting for her, still seated behind the desk, face impassive.

"This is an outrage," Morgause hissed.

"We knew this was a possibility," Nimueh said, far too calm for Morgause's liking. "It's not as though we aren't prepared to take steps to rectify the situation."

"We prepared for the possibility that Arthur Pendragon might not give us the show," Morgause said. "But don't even try to tell me you were prepared for him to give it to _Merlin Emrys_."

Nimueh's lips compressed to a thin line. "No," she answered. "That I hadn't planned for, but I have ideas for how we can modify the original plan."

Morgause seated herself on the edge of the desk. "What sort of modifications are you proposing?"

Nimueh's smile was grim. "The sort that will be very painful for Merlin Emrys, _and_ for his family."

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/y2RKb1R7jM0)

****  


Merlin turned up on his doorstep carrying what, to Arthur, seemed like an excessively large pot for a meal for two people and wearing yet another bandanna around his neck. He also didn't appear to have any other equipment or ingredients for a supposedly revelatory dinner, so Arthur could only assume Merlin had packed everything into the pot and wasn't planning on throwing something together with what he found in Arthur's fridge like a contestant on Iron Chef.

"I thought you only needed a skillet, a knife, and a spoon." He hoped that Merlin was serious about that. Yesterday, He had had to go out and buy a skillet, and if Merlin needed anything beyond the handful of items Arthur actually had in his kitchen, it would bring this dinner to a halt while he sent Leon to find cookware and/or food. If it became necessary, he hoped he could strong-arm Merlin into getting delivery.

"Well, I may have oversimplified a little." Merlin paused. "I can absolutely cook something amazing like that, but I thought I should put a little more effort into it, since I'm trying to prove a point. Although, really, it's mostly because average people never have the right size pots to boil their pasta in."

Arthur tried to look like he had the slightest clue about what Merlin meant, but he could tell it wasn't working from the way Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Are you going to let me in? I'd like to do my miz and get started."

"Your what?" Arthur suspected Merlin was using some sort of restaurant jargon, but he couldn't be sure.

" _Mise en place_. It just means everything in it's place. I want to set everything out, finish my prep work, and feed you. Also, I have a bottle of wine that needs to chill." Merlin said, with a wide smile.

"Merlin, I have wine," he said, stepping away from the door and motioning for Merlin to follow him to his kitchen.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do, but Lance, who is a trained professional by the way, told me to bring this wine. You can thank him later."

Arthur took Merlin's coat, and waved his hand in a way that meant Merlin should make himself at home. Grinning, Merlin set his pot on the counter and pulled his bandanna up over his hair. Arthur had a moment of feeling like an idiot, since it was obviously meant to keep his hair back, and not some horribly misguided fashion statement. It was an interesting look for Merlin. It made all his sharp angles stand out more.

Merlin opened his pot and began unpacking on the counter island. It was somewhat like watching a clown car empty. He pulled out a dozen or so containers in various sizes (one of which looked like it should hold jewelry) that had been sandwiched in between two cold packs, a bottle of Chardonnay that he stuck in the fridge, a pear, a cheese grater, a wedge of cheese, and a pepper mill. Arthur sat on one of his stools opposite Merlin and settled in to watch.

"I was going to do all the prep here," Merlin said as he began opening the packages and arranging them. "But then I realized that I was way to picky about my knives and that I would really need to bring them with me, but I didn't really want to carry them with me on BART. I mean I'd probably be ignored, because it wouldn't be the first time I've carted them around with me on public transit, but I could just see this being the one time someone thought I looked suspicious, and I'd end up having to call you to come bail me out of jail. BART cops make me nervous anyway." He carried the now empty pot to the sink and began filling it with water using the sprayer. "Do you have a pasta strainer?"

Arthur had to think for a moment. Morgana had found it hilarious for a period of about five years to buy him birthday gifts he never used but which she claimed normal people kept in their houses. Which was why he had a vacuum cleaner and a laundry basket, and any number of other things.

"You keep adding items to your list, Merlin," he said, walking over to his kitchen cabinets to see if he could sneakily look for it without giving away that he wasn't completely sure where the strainer was.

Merlin didn't seem to notice, as he lifted the pot away from the sink and carried it to the stove. Arthur almost forgot what he was doing, seeing the way it made Merlin's muscles pop. It wasn't right that someone so thin could make that seem effortless. Merlin grabbed one of his packages and tossed in a handful of some white powder, put the lid back on and turned on the stove, then went back to puttering over the rest of the items on the counter.

"What was that?" Arthur asked wondering if strange white powders was what made the difference between gourmet and ordinary food.

"Hmmm?" Merlin asked, looking at him confusedly. "Oh! It works best with salt water."

"I do have salt, Merlin." Or at least Arthur assumed he did. It had been a while since he had so much as brought takeout back home, and heat-and-serve meals tended to have plenty of salt.

"I'm sure, but I didn't know if you'd have kosher salt, and I like the flavor of it better, since I'll need it for the salad too."

"You can tell the difference between types of salt?"

"Anyone can if they care enough to start paying attention." Merlin said with a grin.

Arthur was fairly sure that most foodies were lying about being able to taste the difference in things based on some arbitrary qualifier of freshness or quality. As far as he could tell, it was just another way for the elites to compete with each other. His skepticism must have shown on his face, because Merlin's smile dimmed noticeably.

"See, the thing is, once you train yourself to notice the interplay of ingredients, it's easy to tell when your taste buds are being tricked. Companies hire scientists to figure out how to make their products taste consistent in the cheapest, most shelf-stable way possible, but there comes a point when you can taste what they actually put in, not what your brain is tricked into thinking it is. Like how most fruit juices are a combination of grape and apple. Once you learn to pick out the flavors, it'll never fool you that it's cranberry."

"I wasn't expecting a dissertation, Merlin."

His smile was back. "I was an engineer before I was a chef, Arthur. Old habits die hard. Do you have a large bowl?"

"Behind you, middle cabinet." All of his plates and bowls were in the same place. "So what really made you change your career path?"

"I'd wanted to be a chef first, since it's kind of the family business," Merlin said, turning to grab the bowl. "My mom's the only one that never had a knack for it. Her family owned the same pub in Wales for something like 10 generations, and my grandparents moved here to try their hand at the business in America. Most of the staff at Ambrosia are cousins that used to work at the original and just want residency."

He paused as if he realized he'd gotten sidetracked. "When I was a senior, I was all ready to apply to the Culinary Institute of America, but then I wasn't sure if anyone would ever take me seriously with my name, so I went for my second love of science instead, joined a frat, and became a vegetarian all in some misguided attempt at rebellion." Merlin returned to the sink and began scrubbing his hands. It reminded Arthur of a surgeon.

"Vegetarian and in a frat don't usually go together."

"Well, wait till you meet my parents. Then you'll understand. Dad's primarily a French chef, and likes to say vegetarians are hypocrites because only privileged westerners have the luxury of turning away food. Mom went veg when I was twelve to spite him, she says that since westerners have the ability to choose what they eat, they have an obligation to choose wisely and in ways that limit their environmental impact. You can probably guess why joining a fraternity would be the only real way to rebel with them as parents."

While Merlin spoke he was busy making what looked like a salad. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"It's a little late to ask, don't you think? But no, Merlin, I'm not allergic to anything."

"Good," he said, returning to the cabinet and grabbing two shallow bowls. Leon had decided shortly after Arthur had moved in that the condo was perfect for dinner parties and had taken to buying Arthur dinnerware every time Leon was in Ikea. "Can you get the wine?"

Arthur stepped away from Merlin's work space and set to getting their drinks ready. When he returned with the two glasses, Merlin was just finishing up the salads.

"Okay, so this is an arugula salad, with pear, prosciutto, aged gouda, and a sherry vinaigrette dressing." He picked up the pepper mill and topped each with coarse ground pepper. "Where are the forks?"

"Top drawer on the right. Would you rather take this to the table?"

"Um, not just yet. I'm going to need to start the butter sauce for the pasta, and we'd have to shout across the room if we wanted to keep talking." He picked up his wine glass and gestured to Arthur. "To good food."

Arthur nodded. "To fame and fortune."

They both drank. Arthur had never been a fan of white wine, and he tried not to make a face, but from Merlin's expression he was pretty sure that he had been too obvious.

"It'll be better with the food, promise."

Arthur rolled his eyes and took a bite. It was good, but he still didn't know what he was supposed to be experiencing other than better than average food. "It's delicious."

Merlin shook his head and grinned. "I don't think for a second you really know why, though. Here. Give me your fork and close your eyes."

Arthur was skeptical, but Merlin looked sincere, so he did it. He could hear Merlin's laugh and shuffling noises.

"So, I'm getting a little bit of everything on your fork. You need to go slow while you chew and be sure to use your tongue to hold the food against the roof of your mouth and also to move it to your teeth. That way, you'll experience the flavor combinations properly. Open up," he said, sliding the fork into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur chewed slowly, working his tongue as he'd been told, noticing for the first time that there were many different elements in the dish and the interplay between them.

"Swallow, Arthur." Merlin's voice was low, almost teasing.

Arthur swallowed, and felt like his Adam's apple was too big, that Merlin would notice that it was bobbing harder than necessary for one bite of food.

"Now take a sip of your wine. Keep your eyes closed if you can. Just focus on the taste of everything. And try and inhale before you drink so that you get the scent of the wine before you get the flavor."

Arthur followed the instruction, and the sip he took was like a burst of perfection. He had that moment of clarity where he actually understood why people babbled about food and wine pairings. He had never realized that if done correctly, the wine acted like an additional ingredient to the dish.

"Okay, open up again." Merlin slid the fork into Arthur's mouth again, and he closed his lips around it, pulling the food into his mouth. "So, now I want you to find the flavors in it. Tell me what you're tasting, Arthur."

Arthur chewed slowly and cataloged as best he could, and when he swallowed again, he opened his eyes, so he could see Merlin as he told him, "There was something zesty? And I could taste the pear, and the cheese."

"That's the arugula. Anything else?"

"I think the vinegar, it was a little like balsamic." Which, honestly, was the only vinegar Arthur knew.

"You're a pretty quick study. Did you notice the prosciutto?"

"Yeah. It was salty, but in a good way."

A blush spread across Merlin's cheeks and he stood up, took a large drink of his wine and stepped away from the counter. "The water's about to boil. I should get started on the sauce." He grabbed Arthur's new skillet and set it on the stove, turning back just long enough to grab a few items from his set up.

Silence began to stretch out. Before Arthur had too long to figure out what he'd done to upset Merlin, Merlin was finally speaking again.

"So, I told you a little bit about my parents. You should return the favor."

"Anything worth knowing about Uther Pendragon, you can get from his Wikipedia entry."

Merlin snorted. "Both my parents have Wiki pages, too. That's hardly all there is to know about them."

"Really? Your parents have their own pages?"

"Well, mom's a pretty well regarded Classicist, and she's been on the History channel a few times as an expert in Saxon warfare. Dad's worked in New York for years, so he's on a few restaurant pages, too. But really, Arthur, tell me something."

"My mom died when I was one. My father started a relationship with Morgana's mother, who was my mother's best friend, and they tried to be married for two years or so. I went to Columbia. I've been playing baseball since I was six and started in little league, but I was a better fencer. I'm really boring, Merlin. All I do is work."

Merlin turned around long enough to frown at him. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit, Arthur."

"Tell me more about your parents," he said, to get the conversation away from him and from possibly getting into difficult topics in regards to his relationship with Uther that he preferred to just avoid entirely. He could see Merlin roll his shoulders as though he was agreeing to let Arthur drop the subject.

"A lot of people don't understand why they're still married, since they live on opposite coasts. Especially since mom is always trying to set dad up on dates, because she doesn't want him to be lonely while they're apart. Mom had a job teaching at Mills and dad's a New Yorker by birth and was more suited to the restaurant scene there. So they decided that the best way to love each other was to let the other be the best they could be. They get together a couple times a year and for vacations. Dad travels more for his work these days, so he's trying to convince mom to take a sabbatical and join him on the road. I think she will once she's done with her latest book."

"Do you ever see your father?"

"It's been a while. I was thinking of going out when the show airs. I'd like to see what he thinks of me following in his footsteps."

"Maybe we can take a camera crew out and have a father-son moment for the DVD extras."

Merlin laughed. "Be sure you call ahead for anything like that. He doesn't do unscheduled publicity." Merlin hauled the pot off the stove and poured out the water. Arthur watched as the steam rose up and created a cloud around Merlin. He thought it might make an interesting visual for the show, given the star's name. It had that feel of something magical.

"Can you take our dishes and the wine to the table? I'll be ready to join you in just a minute."

Arthur did, arranging their seats to be a little closer than he probably should. He refilled their wine and resisted the urge to find candles. Merlin was barely a minute behind him, carrying the two plates with the mysterious box wedged against his side with his elbow.

"So, this is fettuccine with a sage and garlic butter sauce topped with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano." He placed the plates, put the box off to the side and sat, finally able to eat himself.

While they ate, they avoided talking about their families. Arthur told stories about the team, and what it was like to win the World Series, Merlin talked about the band, and the restaurant.

Arthur took to heart Merlin's intent with the dinner, and focused on just tasting everything. The pasta surprised him. He was used to tomato or cream-based sauces, maybe pesto if he was feeling daring, but knowing that it was just butter left him floored. It was rich, and almost too much, but it was also delicate, and the sage and garlic were more subtle then he expected. When he drank his wine, he realized that it was meant to be paired with the pasta more then the salad, and everything he had experienced previously was amplified now.

By the time he was done, and finally made eye contact with Merlin, Merlin was grinning like a loon. "I told you so."

"Yes, fine, food is a spiritual experience."

"Now, I have one more thing before I have pack up and head home. Your publicist hates me and has scheduled an 8 a.m. photo shoot."  


"Merlin! If you have bags under your eyes, don't blame me."

"Don't worry about it. People expect chefs to look like they've lived a hard life of hedonism and tortured genius."

"I don't know if you _could_ look like you've had a hard life, Merlin. You're pretty as a girl." Arthur flushed as his brain caught up to his mouth.

Merlin just grinned. "I think you'll like dessert. Though if I were doing this with proper beverage pairings I would have espresso for us, we'll just have to make do. Gwen's a budding chocolatier and she made these for me to bring," he said as he finally opened the black box. Inside were four squares of extremely dark chocolate topped with what looked like rock salt. "Close your eyes again, ‘cause you're going to want to savor this."

Arthur did, and opened his mouth, half-convinced that Merlin wouldn't actually feed him, now that it would have to be by hand instead of with a fork, but he was wrong. He could feel Merlin's fingers against his lips as the chocolate slid onto his tongue. A hand brushed his jaw and then gently pushed up to close his mouth. Hesitantly, Arthur pressed the candy against the roof of his mouth, the salt and the creamy chocolate melting together as he rubbed it with his tongue. It was nice, but nothing new, he thought. But then he realized there was another flavor. The candy had a caramel center and he hummed with contentment as it mingled together with the salt and chocolate, and slid down his throat. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes to find Merlin staring at him with a look he couldn't place.

Embarrassed, Arthur couldn't meet his eyes. "You'd probably better go. If I keep you much later, you really will have bags under your eyes and our publicist will come after me for it. I'll get your coat for you."

Merlin frowned and stood up, "Yeah. Thanks. You can keep the leftovers." He scooped everything back into his pot and put the dishes in the sink. Taking his coat from Arthur, he walked out the door without making more eye contact then he absolutely had too. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Sure, we can work something out." Arthur said, as he closed the door.

Arthur walked back to his kitchen, tossed the leftovers in the fridge and sat at his table to finish the bottle of wine. He really needed to stop embarrassing Merlin, since it seemed pretty obvious he had done something wrong. He put the lid back on the chocolates, sure that he'd never be able to eat another caramel without becoming achingly hard.


	3. Chapter 3

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/u5Wbxk6wr4A)

****  


The first real day of filming took place on a Saturday. It was decided that since the show was centered around the daily specials, and since the specials theoretically depended on what was in season, the best way to do that would be to ground the show firmly in a place. And few places screamed Bay Area food scene quite like the [Ferry Plaza farmer's market](http://www.embarcaderoshop.com/p7ssm_img_2/fullsize/embarcadero-011_fs.jpg).

So here Merlin was, awake and over the bridge at the ass-crack of dawn for set up, watching the crew get establishing shots of vendors as they set up for the morning. He almost never came to this market, preferring to stick closer to home, since just about every vendor could be found somewhere else. This was more like the foodie equivalent of the hot night club. You went to rub elbows to see and be seen. However, instead of schmoozing, Merlin was in the back of the producers' van with too much time to think.

He was impressed at how fast things seemed to happen once Arthur got the go-ahead to create the show. The restaurant was suddenly full of people making schedules, checking lighting, looking for the best angles for shooting and the best power sources. Through it all, they had to keep serving meals and anticipate that once filming began in earnest, everything would become a thousand times more difficult. Not all their customers would be thrilled at the prospect of being on television, but once word got out, there was the very real chance the place would be swarming with customers who _would_ be. The release forms that everyone coming in the door were asked to sign were just a bonus.

There were episodes to plan, and suddenly Merlin had to think of every special he could possibly run for the next 6 months (good thing Percy had an encyclopedic knowledge of seasonal produce). He had a leather journal covered in post-its, pictures ripped out of magazines, computer printouts, and his own hurried scrawl, that Gwen had taken to calling the

magic book. He came to work early and left late, experimenting with the dishes he developed. Gaius kicked him out of the kitchen after 3 days of mess and told him go home, that he had a week to do it, and not to come back before then. He supposed he should just be grateful that Gwen had all but moved in with Lance, and didn't see the mess he'd made of their kitchen.

And Merlin knew that there was just as much happening elsewhere that he wasn't seeing. He knew that there were marketing campaigns, ads sold, and time slots planned, and many other technical things being handled by professionals. The major result of which meant that he hadn't seen or really spoken to Arthur since the night he cooked for him. That whole episode had thrown him off-balance.

Morgana had phoned him a few days after that night at the club, when he'd run into her for the first time in years, because she knew that she had given him a bad impression of her brother and thought she should fix it. He supposed it was possible the Arthur he'd met that night was vastly different from the Arthur Morgana had told him stories about.

Merlin still didn't know how to define his relationship with Morgana. He supposed it would be easiest to say they'd not been ready to stay friends. She'd been angry at the world then, tired of always being dismissed, and he never quite knew what the truth was with her. But she had told him two things about Arthur that he remembered, primarily _because_ they sounded like truth. One, that he had been an ass when she'd told him she was bisexual, while trying to figure out if she was really a lesbian who was afraid of coming out, or if she was just being trendy. Two, that Arthur was, in all likelihood, according to Morgana, gay and terrified of telling their father, which in turn meant afraid of telling anyone.

Merlin wasn't sure about the gay thing now, though. He had been pretty unsubtle about trying to get into Arthur's pants, to no avail. Although, if Arthur knew he was bi, that might be enough reason for Arthur to avoid him. It wouldn't be the first time.

He'd never had this much trouble hooking up before. Gwen called it his winsome charm, and Gwaine said it was because he looked like he needed to be debauched, never mind that he was one of the biggest deviants that Gwaine knew. The only other person he knew who had turned him down had been Lance.

After Lance had also ignored Gwaine's increasingly ridiculous flirting, they realized that he had to be one of those mythological straight people that they had heard about. Gwen had taken that as her cue, to ask Lance out. That they'd stayed together, with something close to exclusivity, surprised everyone.

Eventually, with filming preparations complete, the crew tossed him out of the van, and he and Percy were sent off to market. Merlin decided they should start by the prepared food stands, work their way up one side, around the front, back through the Ferry Building itself, and then back through a second time to all the vendors he would have to stop and spend time with, because it would be too rude not to.

Every 20 minutes or so, the production assistant would stop them and slather Merlin with more sunblock. At least it was just his face and hands. It had been determined that he should wear his black chef's coat (something about blinding everyone in the sun if he wore white) even though he normally only trotted that out for special events like the half-dozen or so times a year Gaius decided he was also a caterer. And since it was a long-sleeved, high-necked jacket, very little of him was left exposed to bake in the sun. Although he suspected that as it got closer to noon, the assistant would probably come after him with an umbrella to really shield him from the sun when the cameras were off. It was apparently the traditional early fall heat wave that was technically as close to summer as it ever got, but at least the rainy season hadn't started yet. He would much rather have the umbrella mean he was in danger of being burnt, than have to reschedule until they found a dry enough day to film.

They stopped at booths and made a show of selecting produce, relying on the fact that distance and angles would keep anything from looking less then perfect. Most of it was amazing, and what wasn't pretty was discounted for being ugly (which Merlin had always found slightly ridiculous). Appearance didn't matter once you cooked it, and pretty only mattered when it came to plating. Taste was its own beast.

They faked going to a few of the booths several times to select different items. They picked up bread from Acme, and cheese from Cowgirl Creamery. They got mushrooms and preserves and fancy salts. They got meat, and fish, and olive oil.

Around eleven, Merlin begged to stop for lunch, and immediately made a beeline to the Blue Bottle coffee cart in front of the building. The cart was in an alcove, and not only would it provide his much-needed caffeine hit, it would also hide him from anyone he knew who might want to ask too many questions about why he was wandering around the market with a camera crew in tow. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about it necessarily, but once it started, it wouldn't stop, and he would get so caught up in the gossip that he would very likely not be back to film in anything like a reasonable amount of time. Anything he could do to avoid coming out here again was an admirable goal in his book.

It was there, in the shadows behind the cart, that the Great Dragon found him.

"Hello, young chef. I see that after all this time spent running from your destiny, you've finally decided to follow in your father's footsteps." The Dragon gripped his arm and leaned too far into his personal space. The old bastard reeked of smoked things, woodsmoke and meat, and quite a bit like pot. That, at least, made this whole encounter understandable.

"It's not just me. The show's about the restaurant. I'm on it because of Gaius, not my dad," Merlin said, trying to pull away.

"That old fool realizes your potential for greatness, boy. Young Pendragon will one day rule a media empire that will make his father's reign small and forgettable. What you do now will set the course of both of your destinies. You will make him great."

"Riiiiiight. Ok, then. I can see you've totally let go of Uther firing you. I'm going to go back to work now..." Merlin finally got the Dragon to release his grip and began backing away.

"Uther Pendragon may have imprisoned me in this damnable city, but I can see the hand of fate will make me victorious in time. The sons will outshine their fathers."

Merlin hurried back through the crowd, to find the crew, but he didn't relax until he was safely back in Oakland.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/tVOQkBzST2g)

****  


Arthur arrived at Gary Danko at 7:59. He'd considered both arriving late and arriving early, but Leon's silent, pained looks had ushered him out of the office with exactly enough time to make himself presentable and get to the restaurant on time. Now, he just had to make it through this ridiculous sham of a date without letting on that he would rather be just about anywhere but here.

"Right this way, Mr. Pendragon," the concierge said. "Your guest just arrived."

The concierge led Arthur to his father's usual table, toward the back of the restaurant, but still visible from the entrance. Uther liked his privacy, but he also liked for everyone who was anyone to know exactly who he was having private meetings with. He said it kept the competition on their toes.

The woman seated at the table was engrossed in checking something on her phone, so Arthur had ample time to study her without her noticing as he made his way to the table. She was pretty, he supposed, in a soft, blonde sort of way. The same general type as the girls he'd dated in high school. As the woman he'd nearly married, too, although he'd have bet good money Vivian had never in her life looked as relaxed and at ease as Elena Godwin.

Damn it. Uther really _had_ meant for this to be a date. Arthur had been hoping Morgana had simply been paranoid, but this settled the matter as far as Arthur was concerned. Hopefully, Elena hadn't gotten her hopes up.

Arthur put on his best friendly (and absolutely nothing more than friendly) smile. "You must be Ms. Godwin." He held out a hand. "I'm Arthur Pendragon. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Elena stood, taking Arthur's hand for a firm shake. "A pleasure." Arthur was pleased to note that her smile didn't go anywhere beyond friendly, either. "And please, call me Elena. ‘Ms. Godwin' makes this sound far too much like work, and I have a firm policy against having anything to do with work past 7 p.m."

"That's a policy I can respect," Arthur told her, taking his seat. "And one I have to admit I'm a bit surprised by, given what I know of your father."

"Then you'd be extra surprised by my father," she said, smirking at Arthur over the top of her menu. "He's quite a different man once you get him out of the boardroom."

"You're right," Arthur said. "That's quite surprising. I know my father counts yours as a friend, and I didn't think my father _had_ friends who knew how to set work aside."

Elena leaned forward and spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Well, don't spread it around, but I hear Father and Catrina have conspired to drag Uther out to a hockey game this weekend."

Arthur stared at her. "My father. At a hockey game? That's something I'd like to see. I certainly didn't peg Catrina for a hockey fan, either."

"I don't know," Elena said. "Hockey games have people shouting at each other, cheap food, and even cheaper beer. It doesn't seem like much of a stretch to me."

"Put that way, I'm surprised I didn't see it," Arthur said. "Actually, when you put it that way, I might need to start going to more hockey games."

Elena laughed. "That much of a fan of cheap beer, are you?"

"Well," Arthur said, "I prefer not-so-cheap beer, but I do have to admit a certain fondness for concession stand nachos and hot dogs."

"And people shouting?"

"Absolutely," Arthur agreed. "So long as they're not shouting at me."

"That must make life with your sister interesting," Elena said. "She has quite a reputation."

"Morgana isn't actually that bad," Arthur said. "She just has some very concrete ideas about how things should be, and has absolutely no patience for stupid people. But please don't ever tell her I said that, because she will make my life hell if she ever finds out I think she's mostly reasonable."

"No need to worry," Elena said, laughing. "I've got two brothers, myself, so I know how that kind of thing goes."

"You have my sympathies," Arthur told her. "I love my sister, but I'm very glad that there's only one of her."

"The rest of the world is glad, as well." Elena said, studying her menu. "Do you have any thoughts on wine?"

"I'm really more of a beer man," Arthur admitted.

Elena looked intrigued. "And yet, you take a girl to Gary Danko. Interesting."

"Can I be honest?" Arthur asked.

"I'd prefer it if you were," Elena said.

"My father made the reservation," Arthur told her. "This is his table. I don't really even like the food here."

Elena considered him for a long moment, then leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "How do you feel about... _nachos_?"

"I _love_ nachos," Arthur whispered back.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that," Elena told him. She reached into her purse and tossed a fifty dollar bill on the table.

"Come on," she said, grabbing Arthur by the wrist as she stood. "I know a place that will suit us far better."

It was a shame that Elena didn't like Morgana, Arthur thought as she led him from the restaurant. They really were quite alike in some ways.

Elena insisted Arthur leave his car where it was. "Don't be stupid," she told him. "The place is two blocks from BART. I'll even pay for a cab if we miss the last train."

"Fine," Arthur relented. "But this place better have damned fine beer."

"Trust me," Elena said, and Arthur was surprised to find that, actually, he pretty much did.

Of course, he started questioning that trust as soon as she pulled him onto a Richmond-bound train, and it nearly dissipated entirely when they got off at the 19th Street stop.

"There is absolutely nowhere in Oakland that could possibly suit _me_ ," Arthur said.

"I swear, this place has the best nachos and beer anywhere accessible by BART," Elena said, raising her right hand. "On my honor."

Arthur stared at her a long moment, then nodded. "If you'd said the entire Bay Area, I would never have believed you."

"Don't even think it," she scoffed. "Dempsey's clearly has superior beer, and their onion rings are to die for."

" _Dempsey's?_ " Arthur asked in mock horror. "I mean, sure, they're all right, but a bit fancy for a pub, even in the North Bay. If you're going to go that route, Moylan's is clearly superior."

"My god, you've no taste at all, have you?"

They were still arguing the comparative merits of North Bay pubs when Elena pushed open a nondescript wooden door. Arthur had just enough time to see a small, neon sign above the door that simply read "Jarl's" before Elena pulled him in after her.

The first thing Arthur noticed was that the place was a lot nicer than he would have guessed, judging by the outside. The tables and chairs looked a bit worn, but well cared for. The lighting was low, but not so dark you couldn't see clearly. They had Fat Tire on tap. He was beginning to think he might actually enjoy himself, despite being in Oakland.

The second thing Arthur noticed was Merlin, and his stomach made an odd little flip that had him seriously considering the pros and cons of just turning around and walking right back out the door.

He looked good. Amazing, really, with that intense focus he always put into drumming. Arthur had wondered in the months since he'd last been to Ambrosia if maybe his memory wasn't making Merlin out to be more attractive than he really was. Even seeing clips from the show's production, Arthur had thought it could just be a trick of the camera. But, no. Merlin was every bit as hot as Arthur remembered.

Lapin Tueur appeared to be just finishing up a set, Gwen saying something about being right back after a quick break. Arthur hunched down and hoped none of the band would glance in his direction.

"Arthur? Are you all right?" Elena was watching him, concern in her eyes.

"Yeah," Arthur answered. "Of course. Just...taking it all in." He put on a grin. "Wasn't expecting a live band."

"This is why you need to get out of the City more," Elena admonished as they wove their way toward an empty table. "There's nothing inherently wrong with San Francisco, but finding good music _and_ good food at the same place is pretty much impossible."

"What would you know?" Arthur scoffed, purposely choosing a seat that put his back to the stage, but still allowed him to see a bit of what was going on reflected in the glass behind the bar. "You're not even from here."

"I did my undergrad at Berkeley," she said.

"You're not helping your case," he told her. "Everyone knows Cal students are nuts. Comes from spending too much time in the East Bay."

She wadded up her napkin and tossed it at his face.

"See?" Arthur said, holding up both hands. "You're using paper products as weaponry. I'm pretty sure that's a diagnosable mental illness."

Their waiter, a skinny boy with a bad bleach job, chose that moment to arrive. Elena told him that they'd be splitting a plate of nachos, and then ordered two pints of beer. Arthur, watching Merlin's wavy reflection in the glass behind the bar, didn't object.

"If you'd wanted something besides beer, you could have just said," Elena said after the waiter left.

"What?" Arthur asked, looking back at her.

"You were staring at the bar," she said, a teasing light in her eye. "Since the bartender's old enough to be your grandmother, I assumed you were ogling the liquor."

Arthur shook his head. "No, just...thinking."

"Interesting," Elena said. "Word about is that you don't do much of that. Unless you ask your sister, in which case word is you do it far too much."

"Believe me," Arthur told her, "the last person you want to be listening to about me is Morgana. I think she makes things up just to see me squirm."

"I can hardly blame her. You're a bit cute when you squirm. Like an agitated kitten."

"Oh, wonderful," Arthur said. "Just what every grown man wants: to be compared to a kitten."

"At least no one's comparing you to a pig." Arthur wasn't sure whether or not that was a compliment.

It turned out Elena was right about the nachos. They had none of the ridiculous fancy crap so many restaurants tried to fit into the dish, and they had both shredded cheese _and_ cheese sauce, which was always a winning combination in Arthur's book. Between the nachos, the beer (a smooth and nutty brown that Arthur thought must have been designed to go with molten process cheese food product), and getting to watch Merlin's reflection play drums, Arthur thought this might be the best date he'd been on in years.

Even after the band finished their last set, and Merlin disappeared to somewhere not reflected in the glass behind the bar, Elena was great company. She liked beer, sports, and telling scandalous stories about corporate big-wigs and small-time politicians. Arthur thought some of those stories might even be true. Since his disastrous relationship with Vivian, Arthur's father had set him up on any number of dates, but this was the first time Uther had picked a woman that was someone Arthur actually got on with. He wondered what excuse he could use this time when his father started hinting at a second date.

"Arthur!" Gwen greeted, appearing out of the crowd right next to their table, Lance following close behind her. "I _thought_ it was you I saw come in earlier."

She turned to Lance, grinning. " _You_ owe me a drink."

"A drink?" Elena asked.

"Lance didn't believe that I'd really seen Arthur," Gwen explained.

"He said Pendragon wouldn't ever find himself in such stunningly beautiful company," Gwaine added, popping up behind Gwen and Lance.

"No," Lance corrected. "That's what _you_ said."

"Either way, it wasn't a bad guess," Gwaine said, flipping around the chair next to Elena and straddling it, "since he doesn't even have the courtesy to introduce us." He smirked at Elena. "I'm Gwaine, but you can call me ‘Sexy.'"

"You _can't_ be serious," Arthur said, but Elena looked genuinely amused.

Gwen sighed, giving Gwaine an exasperated, though fond, look. "Don't mind him. He's always like this. I'm Gwen, and this is Lance."

"Elena. It's nice to meet you."

Gwaine kept his eyes trained on Elena. "What do you say we ditch these bores and go find our own fun, hmm?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," said Merlin from just behind Arthur's shoulder. "Gwaine, quit trying to steal Arthur's date and leave them be."

"Why should I?" Gwaine said. "He stole my band-mates to make a TV show. It's only fair, really."

"I'm really sorry about this," Merlin told Elena. Arthur wondered if he might be able to just sink into the floor if he wished for it hard enough.

Elena laughed. "No need. I'm no one's date. Arthur's father and mine are old friends, so Arthur kindly offered to keep me company for the night while I'm out here on business."

"That's right!" Arthur chimed in, unable to hide his relief. "We're just here for beer and nachos."

"I was thinking about the nachos," Gwen said. "Are they any good?"

"They're amazing," Elena told her. "Why don't you join us? There's plenty of room, and I'd love to get to know some of Arthur's friends."

Gwen threw a questioning glance at Merlin and Lance, but before either of them could say anything, Gwaine spoke for them.

"We'd love to," he said, scooting his chair closer to Elena's in an obvious pretense of making room for the others.

"I guess we're joining you, then," Merlin said. Arthur tried not to pay too much attention to the way Merlin's hip brushed against his arm as the other man moved past him.

It was a little harder to ignore Merlin's leg bumping his as Merlin took a seat, but Arthur thought he put on a good show. At least, he did until Merlin got himself settled, and his knee came to rest against Arthur's.

"Sorry," Merlin murmured with an apologetic smile. "Long legs."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed. "I mean, it's not a problem. I don't think this table was designed to seat six, but we'll make it work."

"And you're sure we're not intruding?"

Arthur glanced across the table, where Lance and Elena seemed to be discussing the merits of the pub's beer selection, and Gwen was stifling laughter over Gwaine's failed attempts to convince Elena to sit in his lap "to conserve space."

"Very sure," Arthur said. "Although I can't promise anything about your guitarist's safety if he keeps that up."

Merlin gave him a curious look. "I thought you weren't dating."

"We're not," Arthur said. "I'm talking about what _she_ might do to him."

"I don't think that's going to be much of a problem," Merlin said, nodding across the table with a crooked smile.

Arthur glanced over to discover that Gwaine had given up trying to get Elena into his lap in favor of hooking one leg over her lap. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest, one hand resting on his knee as she and Lance debated the use of crystal malts.

"How the hell does he get away with that?" Arthur asked.

"It's his super-power," Merlin said, straight-faced.

"That's completely unfair," Arthur said. "I want a super-power like that."

"Maybe you've already got it," Merlin suggested, and that godawful trembling feeling was back in the pit of Arthur's stomach.

Arthur shook his head. "No, I tried it a few times in college. I ended up with two black eyes and a split lip."

"Maybe," Merlin said, lowering his voice and leaning forward in his chair, "you just never tried it on the right person."

Arthur swallowed hard. "I'm pretty sure I'd get punched if I tried anything like that with Elena," he joked.

Merlin leaned back, and Arthur told himself he must be imagining the disappointment he saw on the other man's face. "Yeah, you're probably right about that," Merlin said, then raised his voice. "Hey, who's going to help me eat jalapeño poppers?"

"I'll help you eat them if you help me eat my nachos," Gwen offered.

"And I'll steal one because I can't pass up the opportunity to eat food that someone else is paying for," Gwaine said, grinning broadly.

"If you're going to be stealing food," Elena told him, eyes twinkling with mirth. "it's really only fair that you buy the next round of drinks."

"No, no, no," Gwaine said. "You misunderstand how this works. Other people buy things, and I just consume them.

"But," he continued, "I might be able to set aside my piratical tendencies just long enough to buy a beer for a beautiful woman."

"I'm sure Gwen will appreciate it," Elena said, deadpan.

"That's so _sweet_ of you, Gwaine," Gwen said, playing along. "I never would have imagined you could be such a gentleman."

"Don't be ridiculous," Gwaine said, not missing a beat. "It's clear to anyone with eyes that Lance is the most lovely lady here."

Lance fluttered his eyelashes like something out of a kid's cartoon and simpered at Gwaine, who looked suddenly pained.

"Never mind," Gwaine said. "I was mistaken. _I'm_ obviously the most beautiful, so I'll just buy _myself_ a beer."

Merlin leaned over and spoke in a low voice as Gwaine flagged down a server. "Did you really just get Gwaine to agree to pay for his own beer?" he asked Elena. "You're _good_."

"I am a woman of many talents," she told him before leaning back to argue with Gwaine over whether or not he was going to share his onion rings with her.

"So," Arthur said, nudging Merlin with his shoulder, "tell me how the show is going. I hear some from the director and film crew, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"It's good," Merlin said. "I mean, it's a little tough having film crews underfoot all the time, but we're learning to work around it.

"You know," he continued, tracing patterns in the condensation on his water glass, "you could always stop by if you're concerned."

"I wouldn't say I'm concerned," Arthur told him. "Just curious."

Merlin looked at him. "You could stop by if you're curious, too. Or, you know, whatever."

There was something in that crooked half-smile that Arthur couldn't say no to. "I'll see when I can work it into my schedule."

"Sorry that took so long," said a large man, shoving a phone into his pocket as he approached the table. Arthur remembered him from the last time he'd seen Merlin's band play, hauling equipment. "Did someone remember to order my pizza?"

"Taken care of," Lance said. "And a pint of the draft hefeweizen."

"Bless you," the man said. He turned to Arthur and stuck out his hand. "Don't think we've formally met. I'm Percy, equipment manager for Lapin Tueur and forager for Ambrosia."

"Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said, shaking the other man's hand. Percy had an impressive grip.

"Thought so," Percy said. "Merlin's mentioned you often enough I feel almost like I know you."

"You'd best not be spreading stories about me, Merlin," Arthur said with mock-severity. "I won't have you ruining my reputation."

Merlin flushed. "It's nothing like that," he muttered. "I just thought Percy should know about the man behind the show."

The half-pleasant flutters in Arthur's stomach sank like a leaden weight. Why did every conversation he had with Merlin have to end up uncomfortable?

"I'm going to see if I can find myself a chair," Percy said, glancing around and finding none free in the immediate vicinity.

"No need," Arthur said. "I should be going. I've got an early morning."

"You sure?" Percy asked, glancing between Arthur and Merlin with a dubious expression. "I can find another seat."

"I was just about to take off, anyway," Arthur lied, standing. He glanced over toward Elena to see if she might want to share a cab back to the City, only to find that she had her tongue down Gwaine's throat.

"Well," Arthur said, "good night, all."

There was a chorus of ‘good night' from the others at the table, and Elena pulled one hand from Gwaine's hair long enough to wave vaguely in Arthur's direction. Gwaine ignored him entirely.

"It was nice seeing you," Merlin murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

"Yeah," Arthur said. "Nice seeing you."

He wondered the whole ride back to his car if the invitation to stop by filming was still on the table, or if he'd completely blown that with his teasing.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/ZghGHHBO_nU)

****  


There were five of them and [six courses](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cxcxHR6B54KFPulJGZiwmh9Y3tSVh-SHwegeHXC05T0/edit?hl=en_US) plus alcohol. It was Forridel who found the space with some friends of friends, in a cookie factory turned live-work space in East Oakland. Will D. arranged for the beer pairings, Gilli had the brilliant idea to serve it all on kid's partyware which incidentally gave them the theme of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ , and Will E. fed the announcement of the supper club though the usual channels, set up the online payment system, kept the books, and convinced Merlin he had time to do two of the courses.

Merlin was pretty sure that Will E. charged too much, but when he asked, Will made some noise about how people would pay anything to say they knew someone before they were famous, and he could make a million dollars exploiting hipsters and their need to be cool.

The location had been decked out in potted palms and fake statuary that someone, probably Forridel, since she had connections everywhere, had convinced one of the local prop shops to lend them. They had crates of beer to go with each dish, six courses prepped and ready to finish, and 35 expected attendees. Merlin had forbidden Will E. from adding a second night.

He knew there were plenty of chefs out there who did this kind of thing all the time, but the stress of doing something technically illegal while in the midst of filming had Merlin on edge, especially since it was largely based on _his_ name that people were coming.

Word had spread quickly about the filming for _A Wizard in the Kitchen_. It had only taken one person on Yelp to tell everyone that Ambrosia was full of cameras, and suddenly the place was packed every night. When Gilli got the brilliant idea that he wanted to put up a supper club, Merlin balked at participating. He had nothing like free time to invest in doing it. Fortunately Gilli also planned out the entire menu and found the basic recipes, so that all Merlin had to do was take his assigned courses and make them better.

The two Wills had found a few other people and drafted them into hosting duties, handing out plates, and filling glasses. Merlin didn't know them, but given they seemed relaxed and happy to be there, and he assumed they were coworkers of Will D.

The five round tables were covered with khaki table cloths. Each setting consisted of brown napkins, and three plastic cups. The water glasses were plastic chalices someone had found and done things like add rhinestones and stickers to so they all looked different. He supposed they were supposed to be false grails.

It took forever to get started, people treated it as an event to be fashionably late to, not as a reserved dinner they needed to be on time for, lest they lose their seat. But once they got everyone seated, the movie started and drinks poured, everything moved quickly.

Forridel, Gilli, and Merlin took turns on their courses. They'd done most of the prep at The Ring where Gilli worked, since it was just a breakfast and lunch place. Each dish originated from the film's locations, from Peru to Egypt, and they had tried to select dishes that would complement each other. For the dessert, though, they decided it would be funniest if they went with stuffed dates.

Merlin stayed in the narrow kitchen except when he had to plate his dishes (Nepali momos and Lamb with orzo) or to assist in plating the others'. He didn't know if there was any merit to what Will had said. Maybe people were here because of him and maybe it was because of the trendiness of supper clubs or even the relative coolness factor in the theme. But he did get the opportunity to see who was out in the dining area, and there were several heavy hitters. He recognized Edwin from The Black Beetle, and Anhora from Unicorn and an older man with a neatly trimmed grey beard who stood out in the crowd of mostly thirty-somethings. There was something overwhelmingly familiar about him, but Merlin couldn't place him, until Will D. came flying into the kitchen just after the entree was served to tell them that Taliesin Baird had complimented his beer choices.

Forridel dropped the spoon she was using to drizzle honey on dates. "Taliesin? I thought he never left New York."

Gilli proceeded to panic. "Fuck, why would he come to this? I mean yeah we're awesome, but _Taliesin?_ He's got, like, three Michelin-starred restaurants. How do you live up to that?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "We just have to get through it. He's probably just slumming it or something. We serve dessert and the digestif and we clean up and go home, just like we planned. If good things come of it, then cool, and if not, then we can tell our grandchildren about the time we hosted an unlicensed dinner and gave food poisoning to one of the world's most famous restaurateurs."

"You think he'll get food poisoning." Will D looked concerned.

"No, but it'll make a better story. Send the kids in to serve this last course. We'll face our fates soon enough."

They followed Merlin's instructions, the crowd finished their meals and applauded and thanked the chefs, and busing went smoothly. Merlin went to work packing away equipment while Forridel handled the leftover food and Gilli began running their gear down to his car. Merlin was caught up in his own head, thinking of how he could continue the movie theme and do another dinner, when he realized he had someone behind him.

"Merlin Emrys?"

"Yeah?" He asked, turning around and coming face to face with Taliesin himself. "Sir."

"I wanted to discuss your career with you. Where are you working?" He seemed genuinely interested.

Merlin blinked, convinced he couldn't have heard that right. "Um, I'm doing a show right now for Pendragon, but it's mostly because they were desperate for a show and my uncle wasn't as interested in being the star."

"I rather doubt it was all due to your uncle, but that's not why I wanted to speak to you. I'm opening a new restaurant next year, and my chef at Crystal will be moving to the new location. I'd like to offer you the sous chef position at Crystal now, and if all goes well, you will be made executive chef when Dave leaves."

Merlin narrowed his eyes, pretty sure he couldn't be hearing that right. "Me? Are you sure? Did my dad ask you to give me a job?"

"I don't believe I've ever met your father. But," he said, pulling out a business card. "Give me a call if you're interested when you're done with your filming schedule." Taliesin handed him the card . "I'll let you get back to work," he said, as he rejoined his small entourage, and left.

Merlin went back to tearing down the venue decor. He knew Taliesin would have no reason to lie to him, but he found it hard to believe that his culinary skill was enough to make someone like Taliesin offer him a job with no idea of who he was or where he worked. He didn't think he'd ever need it, but he put the man's information in his phone just to be able to say he had it.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/JJ43A07bijc)

****  


Merlin always felt a bit useless at catering gigs. Most of the real cooking was done beforehand, which left only assembly and plating on-site. In truth, Merlin's biggest role at jobs like this was to keep the people hosting the event from causing too much disruption to the catering staff, something which was remarkably difficult to do with a film crew hovering over his shoulder.

It didn't help that _A Wizard in the Kitchen_ had aired its debut episode only five days earlier, to rave reviews, and people kept wanting to come over to tell the Ambrosia staff how very much they enjoyed the show. And, Merlin suspected, to try to get a little camera time themselves.

"I'm afraid Chef Du Cameliard is quite busy at the moment," Merlin said, gently herding a sharply-dressed, middle-aged woman away from where Gwen was spinning delicate, molten brown sugar webs over individual servings of cardamom custard. "I'll be happy to pass on your compliment, though. I'm sure she'll very much appreciate it."

"I wouldn't want to interrupt," the woman said, giving a longing look over Merlin's shoulder, "but are you sure I couldn't speak with her for just a moment? I won't be long."

Merlin just barely refrained from grinding his teeth. He would have bet good money the woman's longing gaze was for the camera crew, not Gwen.

"I'm sorry," he said, not meaning it in the slightest, "but it wouldn't do to interrupt her concentration. You know what they say about breaking an artist's concentration."

Merlin wasn't actually familiar with any sayings regarding the subject, but the woman nodded as though he'd said something profound and allowed him to lead her back out into the main part of the event hall.

When Merlin turned to head back to the kitchen, he found himself face to face with Arthur Pendragon, looking like something out of a magazine as he lounged against the door jamb in a jet-black suit and tie. Merlin was acutely aware of the grease spot on his own coat, the result of an incident earlier involving melted butter and a lighting technician who wasn't paying enough attention to where he was going.

"I thought for a minute there I was going to have to rescue you," Arthur said with that infuriatingly smug grin that made Merlin want to hit him. Or maybe lick him. He could never quite decide.

"Sorry you didn't get to play the brave and noble knight," Merlin answered, "but I doubt I'd make a very good damsel, anyway."

Arthur cocked his head to the side. "I don't know. Maybe with a little pink taffeta..."

"As much as I'd love to hear more about your kinks, Arthur, I've really got to get back to work."

He'd meant it as a joke, a little extra bite to the reminder that, unlike Arthur, Merlin was at the banquet to _work_. Except Arthur's smug smile faded away and his eyes were suddenly wide and serious.

"You invited me," he blurted.

Merlin stared. "I _what?_ "

"At the pub," Arthur said, not meeting his eyes. "You said I should stop by filming, and then Morgana had an extra ticket to this thing and I saw on the filming schedule that you'd be here, so... I came."

"I thought you'd forgotten about that by now," Merlin said. Or that Arthur was just blowing him off, after Percy had made him sound like some sort of obsessed stalker.

"No," Arthur said, raising his eyes to look straight at Merlin. "I didn't forget."

Merlin wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly just bang his head into the nearest wall until he lost consciousness. Arthur Pendragon had to be the most confusing, frustrating man in existence, and Merlin didn't have the time or patience to deal with him tonight.

"I've got to get back to work," Merlin said.

A shadow of Arthur's cocky smile returned. "No one's stopping you."

Merlin gave him a flat stare, refusing to let himself be sidetracked by dimples. "You're blocking the doorway."

"Ah," Arthur said. "Right."

He stepped aside, although just barely. Merlin could smell his cologne as he walked past.

"Wait," Arthur said, grabbing Merlin's arm just as he made it through the doorway.

Merlin turned to him. "Make it quick. I need to get back to protecting our staff from camera-whoring socialites."

"Look," Arthur said, "I don't do this often, so you'd better appreciate it." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Merlin stared. Maybe Arthur was just _crazy_. "Sorry for what?" He wondered if he was going to hate himself later for asking.

"For whatever it is I keep doing to make you uncomfortable," Arthur said, his hand still on Merlin's arm. "I don't mean to, so. Sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Merlin said, shaking his head.

"But," Arthur said, his brow furrowing, "what about that night at the pub?"

At the-- Oh. Oh, Merlin was going to _kill_ Percy the next time he saw him.

"That wasn't your fault," Merlin said. "Percy was just being an ass, that's all."

"But it wasn't the first time it happened," Arthur insisted. "Every time we talk, it's fine for a bit, and then you get all... weird and fidgety."

"Me?" Merlin asked, incredulous. " _I_ get weird and fidgety?"

"Yes!" Arthur said. "That's it, exactly."

"No," Merlin said, "that's not it at all. _You're_ the one who--" He broke off, shaking his head. "I don't have time for this. I've got to get back and make sure the fish course gets out properly."

"I'm not going to apologize again," Arthur told him, his thumb stroking along Merlin's biceps.

"Good," Merlin said. "Now, are you going to let go of me so I can do my job?"

Arthur looked down at his hand as though he were stunned to find it still resting on Merlin's arm. Merlin's annoyance got the better of him.

"I'm not the one who's uncomfortable, Arthur," he said, lowering his voice. "I mean, yeah, sometimes it's a little distracting that you're as hot as you are, but you've met my friends. I'm used to being surrounded by hot people."

Arthur gaped at him.

"And, yeah," Merlin continued, "sometimes I really kind of wish you'd make up your mind about whether or not you want in my pants, but _I'm_ not uncomfortable that you might." Surely sexual frustration could be counted as a separate category from discomfort.

Arthur continued to stare at him, mouth working soundlessly.

"I'm going to get back to work," Merlin told him. "I'll see you around."

This time, Arthur didn't try to stop him.

Something of Merlin's irritation must have shown on his face, because Gwen stopped arranging candied roses atop her custards long enough to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder and sympathetic smile.

"Merlin!" He hadn't even managed to get his apron back on before Freya rushed up to him, eyes wide with panic. "I've been looking all over for you. You've got to come with me."

"What is it?" Merlin asked, alarmed. "Did something break? Is someone hurt?"

Freya shook her head. "It's Gaius. Those two fanatics from Blessed Cafe are here, and they started harassing him about his choice of staff, and, well, _you_ know how protective he gets. They're starting to make a bit of a scene."

"Go," Gwen said, never looking away from her desserts. "I can handle everything back here."

Merlin followed Freya, trying to ignore the several members of the film crew that trailed after them. He didn't even want to think about this ending up on national television.

He found Gaius staring down the two women near the back of the hall, on the opposite end from where he'd been speaking to Arthur. He was relieved to see that while they had drawn a bit of attention, it wasn't nearly the crowd he'd been fearing from Freya's description.

"--some nerve bringing _that man's_ son here!" the blonde woman was saying.

Merlin had never met Morgause Cornysh, but he recognized her from photos, just as he recognized the dark-haired woman beside her as Nimueh Linn. He supposed it wasn't entirely surprising to see the two of them here, since the event _was_ a fundraiser for raising awareness about the positive environmental impact of buying from small, local, organic farms, but why on earth were they shouting at Gaius, of all people?

"Now you listen to me," Gaius said angrily.

Merlin cut in before he could go any further. "Is there a problem here?"

Nimueh turned disturbingly blue eyes on him, lips curved in a smile that was far from friendly. "I'm surprised to see you here, Chef Emrys." She glanced pointedly over his shoulder. "Especially with a camera crew. What _will_ Daddy say?"

"If you have an issue with my father, I suggest you take it up with him," Merlin told her, his voice cold. "I'm not in the habit of making apologies for my family."

"No," Nimueh said, that odd smile never changing, "based on what I know of your family, I don't imagine you go in much for apologies at all."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off into the crowd, regal as any queen.

Morgause shot a venomous glare first at Gaius and then at Merlin. "Don't think this is over," she hissed before stalking after Nimueh.

Merlin turned to Gaius. "What was that about?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Gaius answered, patting Merlin's shoulder. "Just some lingering resentments from years long gone."

Merlin nodded, but he couldn't help thinking the resentment seemed to be a lot more than lingering.

  
[  
  
](http://youtu.be/eIqESwzCGg4)

****  


After the dinner, Nimueh and Morgause went straight back to the Blessed Cafe. They smiled at their regulars and made gestures to those of the staff who would understand such things. Together, they slipped into the administrative office and shut the door. Morgause began cleaning the dry erase board on the wall while Nimueh booted up the office computer.

"This is absolutely unacceptable," Nimueh said as she began searching keywords. "It was bad enough that we were willing to prostrate ourselves to the progeny of Uther Pendragon in order to share the truth of the old ways, but for Merlin Emrys to gain access to such an audience, when he is so obviously his father's son. I had hopes that the boy might be salvageable given that he had chosen to reckon his descent matrilineally."

"You must find something we can use against him. Somewhere on the Internet is the information we need to break him. Do not limit your search to him; his parents may provide the key to his downfall." There was a knock at the door and Morgause stopped writing the names of known associates of Merlin long enough to answer it. "Tauren. Bring us a carafe of the cold brewed coffee, and inform Alvarr we will need his presence and yours shortly." He bowed and Morgause closed the door.

"I've found it, and it is perfect." Nimueh said, looking up from the monitor with a gleeful expression. "Anthony Balinor has donated funds to a research group attempting to isolate the genes responsible for flavor in wild strawberries, in order to reintroduce it into domesticated species."

Morgause's eyes lit up as she draped herself across Nimueh's back in order to see the monitor. "He supports GMOs? This must be a gift from the gods themselves, that it should be so easy."

There was another knock at the door, but this time, Nimueh simply bade them enter. Tauren placed the coffee on the desk and then he and Alvarr stood silently awaiting orders.

"Gather your soldiers. The whole of the Bloodguard. Tauren, you will lead the front on the Internet. Go to forums and blogs, and especially Yelp. Make it look like Ambrosia serves genetically modified foods. The rumors must be impossible to trace back to us. Alvarr, you will gather our ground forces. There must be protesters outside Ambrosia whenever they are open. Both of you, ensure that our efforts are focused on Merlin Emrys and him alone. We must drive him to desperation."

"Yes, Priestess," the men said in unison, as they turned and left.

Morgause returned to her dry erase board and began detailing the strategy they would need to convey to their followers. Nimueh came up behind and her slipped her arms around Morgause's waist. "Merlin will be left with no choice but to denounce his father, or watch as everyone turns against them both."

"Not even the Pendragons will be able to stand under the weight of what we will do to him," Morgause said, turning in Nimueh's arms so that she could properly express her satisfaction.


	4. Chapter 4

[ ](http://youtu.be/9iyltxk-1EI)

Arthur waited until the camera crew had finished packing up, lingering at the soiree after even Morgana was ready to leave, and she'd seemed quite content to spend the latter half of the evening draped over the bar, trading contender recipes for the Worst Cocktail Ever with Lance whenever he wasn't busy mixing drinks. She'd been wary about leaving him, even after he assured her he could find his own way home.

"Fine," Morgana finally relented, "but if you do anything stupid and end up stranded, call Leon, because I've got plans I'm not willing to interrupt to come rescue you."

"Believe me," Arthur said, "you are the last person I'd call."

Instead of the indignant scowl he'd anticipated, Morgana laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Take care of yourself, Arthur. You may be my big brother, but sometimes, I swear you haven't got the sense of a five-year-old."

He'd been too distracted (not nervous; Arthur didn't _do_ nervous) to do much more than scowl at her.

It was almost an hour later when Arthur finally made his way back into the kitchen, where Gwen, Lance, and Merlin were packing the last of their gear into bins. He stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before Gwen noticed him.

"Hello, Arthur," Gwen said, smiling at him. "Lance mentioned you were here. Did you enjoy the party?"

Arthur shrugged. "It's not the worst benefit I've been to," he said. "And the food was definitely better than most," he added with a sidelong glance at Merlin.

Merlin ignored him, continuing to pack flatware into the bin in front of him.

"Well..." Gwen said, trailing off as she glanced between Arthur and Merlin.

Lance appeared to be hiding a smile as he closed up a bin of carefully wrapped champagne flutes, and Arthur suddenly wondered if perhaps he and Morgana had been talking about more than awful drinks.

"We were just heading out," Merlin said, not looking up.

"Ah," Arthur said. It was tempting to just turn around and leave, but he couldn't. Not after what Merlin had said earlier. It would be the cowardly thing to do, and Arthur Pendragon was not a coward, whatever Merlin might think.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Merlin," he said. "I need a word with you."

"Make it quick, then," Merlin said, still packing. "Gwen and Lance have somewhere to be."

"I need a word with you _alone_ ," Arthur said.

"We can finish loading the van," Lance chimed in. "And then we can run home to change and meet you back at Ambrosia to unload."

"I have a better idea," Arthur said. "I can help Merlin load and unload the van, and the two of you won't have to worry about being late for whatever you're doing tonight."

"Oh, that would be lovely," Gwen said. "You don't mind, do you, Merlin? I really want to get a couple games in before the bowling alley closes."

Merlin gave Arthur a long, searching look. "All right," he agreed, finally. "But don't think I'm going to do all the work, Pendragon. You offered to help, and that means you're hauling boxes."

"I know that, Merlin," Arthur said. It wasn't like he would have offered if he hadn't been willing to do the work.

"Thank you so much," Gwen said, grinning at Arthur. "Lance, can you grab the car? I'm going to call Morgana to see if she can meet us at the lanes earlier than we planned."

Arthur stared at her. "You're going bowling with my _sister_? Does Morgana even know how to bowl?"

"Gwen and I promised to teach her," Lance said, then stole a quick kiss from Gwen before heading toward the parking lot.

Arthur turned toward Merlin. "My sister doesn't bowl," he repeated.

Merlin rolled his eyes and handed Arthur a bin. "The van's around back," he said as he picked up another bin. "By the loading dock."

Arthur had no choice but to follow him. He was annoyed to realize that his palms were sweating, making it difficult to hold on to the bin. He had to stop several times to readjust his grip, and by the time he reached the van, Merlin was already heading back inside for another bin.

"This is the last one," Arthur said, stepping up into the back of the van with the final bin ten minutes later.

Merlin turned from where he was stacking bins against the back of the seats. "Thanks," he said, taking the bin from Arthur. "Give me just a minute to strap these down."

"Yeah, sure," Arthur said. "Um, look. About earlier..."

Merlin paused, bungee straps in hand, and looked at Arthur. "If you say I'm weird and fidgety again, I _will_ punch you."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Good," Merlin said, turning back to the bins.

"It's just," Arthur said, taking the opportunity of Merlin's back being turned to surreptitiously dry his palms on his trousers, "it doesn't make me uncomfortable. That I'm attracted to you."

Merlin hooked the bungee straps into place and turned to face Arthur, his expression unreadable. "Is that all?"

"No," Arthur said. "I need to know if you meant it. When you called me hot."

Merlin gaped at him.

"It isn't _that_ ridiculous a thought," Arthur muttered, looking away.

"You--" Merlin started, then stopped, shaking his head. "I've been practically throwing myself at you for _months_."

Arthur's head snapped up. "You have?"

"You really didn't notice?" Merlin looked like he was on the verge of either laughter or a nervous breakdown.

"Well," Arthur said, trying to hide his sudden giddiness behind feigned nonchalance, "I'm probably just so used to people throwing themselves at me that I missed the signs."

Merlin laughed, taking a step forward, "God, you are _such_ an ass."

"That's not very--"

Merlin cut him off with a kiss, hard and demanding, and Arthur forgot what he'd been trying to say. He slid his hands down Merlin's sides, over his hips, and around to cup his ass.

Arthur felt Merlin grin into the kiss as he pushed Arthur back into the wall of the van, and Arthur couldn't even bring himself to care about the window latch digging into his shoulder. He'd been thinking about this -- _wanting_ it -- for too long to care about much of anything else.

Merlin ground against him, wanton and _so_ fucking hot, and for several seconds, Arthur forgot how to breathe. And then he was tugging at the buttons of Merlin's coat, pulling up the soft cotton undershirt beneath to get his hands on Merlin's skin.

Merlin pulled back, breathing hard, lips wet and swollen from kissing. "I want to blow you," he said.

Arthur's brain short-circuited. "...fuck," was all he could manage.

"Can I?" Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded, his fingers curling into Merlin's back. "Please."

And then Merlin was pulling away, reaching back behind the bins they'd just loaded.

Arthur frowned. "What--?" he started to ask, and then Merlin turns back around, brandishing a small box.

"You keep condoms in your catering van?" Arthur asked, incredulous.

"It's also our gig van. Gwaine likes to pick up groupies. Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?"

"Really not," Arthur said, grabbing Merlin's hand and pulling him in for another kiss.

They were both panting hard when Merlin broke the kiss, sliding down Arthur's body to kneel on the floor of the van. Arthur watched, mesmerized, as Merlin deftly unfastened his slacks, pulling his briefs down along with them to reveal his straining erection.

Merlin looked up at Arthur, grinning wickedly as he wrapped a hand around Arthur's cock and gave it a single, smooth stroke.

Arthur inhaled sharply, one arm grabbing hold of the nearest bin to help him keep his balance. The china inside clinked.

"If you break any of that, you're paying for it," Merlin said in a conversational tone as he rolled a condom down Arthur's cock.

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, something about how _he_ wasn't the one who suggested sex in the van, but his words were cut off by Merlin's tongue on his cock, light and teasing. Arthur's entire world narrowed to the feel or Merlin's mouth on his cock, the softness of his lips and the rippling pressure of his tongue and the way he took Arthur all the way into his mouth and _sucked_.

Arthur knew he wasn't going to last much longer, and he was dimly aware that he maybe ought to be embarrassed about that fact, but couldn't remember ever meeting _anyone_ who turned him on as much as Merlin did. And the way Merlin looked, with his lips wrapped around Arthur's cock and half-hooded eyes trained on Arthur's face...

Merlin's hand joined his mouth on Arthur's cock, stroking hard and firm, and that was all it took. Arthur's head fell back, hitting the side of the van with an audible "thud" as he came.

When Arthur came back to himself, Merlin was still kneeling on the floor, fingers tracing the line between Arthur's hip and thigh.

"C'mere," Arthur whispered, and Merlin stood, letting his hands trail up Arthur's hips as he did so.

Arthur pulled him into a kiss, fingers fumbling Merlin's pants open and plunging his hand inside.

Merlin gasped into the kiss as Arthur's hand wrapped around his cock, then moaned as he began stroking. Merlin's underwear were already damp with precome, his cock hard as iron in Arthur's fist. It thrilled Arthur to know Merlin had gotten that turned on just sucking him off.

It didn't take long until Merlin was coming, thrusting into Arthur's hand and spilling all over both their shirts. As Merlin's mouth found his once again, Arthur couldn't really bring himself to care that his suit was probably ruined.

Arthur tried not to feel too awkward as they got themselves cleaned up. He didn't really know what proper protocol was for getting off with a sort-of coworker in the back of a catering van. Merlin seemed amused by the stains on his own coat, which Arthur thought was probably a good sign.

"Come on," Merlin said, crawling into the front of the van. "You said you'd help me unload everything back at the restaurant, and don't think one good orgasm is going to make me forget it."

"Oh?" Arthur said, crawling after him. "How many would it take?"

Merlin grinned at him and started the van. "You're welcome to try and find out."

[ ](http://youtu.be/QitJUGsHp7U)

Merlin could hear his phone. He could not, however, untangle himself from his blankets in time to answer it. Cursing, he dug himself out of the nest he had made in the night to preserve warmth, trying to see his alarm clock while keeping the heat in. As soon as his brain processed that it was still well before noon, and that he did not have to return to work until five, he resolved to horribly murder whoever it was that had woken him up.

 ****

Realizing there was a chance, however small, that the call was about an actual emergency, he stumbled out of bed. He wrapped a blanket around himself as a makeshift robe, since his apartment would be freezing until the sun reached his windows, and began searching for his phone. He found it in the pocket of the hoodie he had tossed into the corner of his room. The call was from Arthur. He blinked at his phone for several seconds. After finally deciding he did need to listen to his voice mail before crawling back into bed, someone started pounding on his door.

"What!" he yelled as he headed through his apartment. At least Gwen spent all her time at Lance's and he wasn't at risk of waking her up as well.

"Merlin, open up." He could just make out through the door that it was Arthur out there. As hot as their escapade in the van had been, Arthur would have to learn that providing sex one time, a _week_ ago, did not give him permission to wake Merlin before his alarm went off.

After unlocking and opening his door, he paused a moment to glare at Arthur. "Are you here because you can't bear to be away from me for a minute longer?" he deadpanned.

"I'm here because, I mean..." Arthur seemed unable to find the words he needed, and his face rapidly went though several emotions, including embarrassment, before he regained his composure. "You've been scheduled for a promotional interview at one. How quickly can you be ready to go?"

"I know I'm expected to promote this show, and maybe it's too hard for someone with a personal assistant who does their scheduling to understand, but I can't actually drop everything on a moment's notice." Merlin paused, as he remembered why Arthur at his door was so unexpected. "How did you find out where I live?"

"Gaius told me, when I called to find out where you were. He also said you could take the night off." He took a breath and continued, "I just found out this morning that my father arranged the interview as part of the launch campaign. I promise you weren't deliberately kept out of the loop."

"If the interview is at one, I don't actually need the whole night off." Merlin decided he could forgive Arthur, since it was only due to circumstance that he interrupted Merlin's sleep.

"I don't have a good estimate of how long the interview will actually take, but it's very likely we won't leave until after three, which would put us in the middle of the worst bridge traffic. I thought we could spend the day in the City together."

"That does sound like fun." Merlin smiled. "I need a shower and coffee, which means I can be ready in about half an hour. Can I trust you to keep yourself entertained while I'm gone?"

"I think I can manage that Merlin," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

Merlin started a pot of coffee, then headed toward his bathroom for a fast shower. Once out, he decided to wear his nicest jeans and a button down, and was back out in the kitchen to drink his coffee in under 15 minutes.

As he pulled out the carafe to pour he turned to Arthur. "Do you want any?"

"No, I'm fine." Arthur said shaking his head. "I've already had too much today."

"I can put this in a travel mug if you don't mind me drinking in your car."

"You can put it in a mug, but know that I'm putting my faith in you by letting you drink in my car."

"I promise not to let your faith be misplaced, Arthur."

Coffee acquired, they were soon out the door and on the way toward the studio. The drive was mostly silent while Merlin willed the coffee to turn his brain on and prevent him from making a fool of himself in the interview. The good news was that Arthur promised that the questions would be gentle, since it was being handled in-house, so editing would be used judiciously to present him in a good light, and they would do multiple takes if they had to. That wasn't to say they wouldn't go for spontaneity, and genuine responses were preferred, but they were entirely ready to edit out pauses while Merlin considered his answers. It felt like entirely too soon that they arrived and he was getting tidied up in the makeup chair.

The interview space was just two chairs with the Pendragon Communications Station (PCS)logo on them and a back drop set up to conceal the fact they were in a large, mostly empty studio. They mic'd him up and gave him instructions similar to Arthur's: don't worry, we want you to look good, and it's not live. The interviewer introduced herself as Helen, and cameras started to roll.

"With me today is Merlin Emrys, one of the hot new stars of _Wizard in the Kitchen_. Tell me, Merlin, when did you decide to become a chef?"

"Well, I don't know if ‘decide' is the best way to describe it. My mom's family have been in the restaurant business for at least a hundred years that we know of, and my dad's a pro chef too, so I kind of grew up in kitchens, learning about food. I did try to rebel and went to school for engineering, but I like to think I can apply the principles from my degree to cooking."

"You do seem to construct some interesting dishes on the show, and you all seem to be on the verge of becoming huge names in food culture. What do you see everyone doing in ten years?"

"I think Gwen will have her own chocolate shops. She's kind of a genius with chocolate. And I think Lance should have his own wine label someday. He could wander around his vineyard all tanned with the wind in his hair, and be his own spokesmodel."

Helen laughed. "There _is_ a certain amount of natural beauty with the Ambrosia staff. It's really amazing that there were so many people in one place that the camera just loves." Merlin felt his face flush. "Tell me, Merlin, how does it feel to be in front of those cameras?"

"It's strange being on this side of the camera. Both of my parents have done things for television, and when I was younger I used to go with my mom when she'd be interviewed on, like, the History Channel. I was already in college when Dad got his show, but I did spend a summer on the road with him. I was never on camera, though."

"I suppose that leads me to my next question. With Tony Balinor as your father, surely that's got to open a lot of doors in the restaurant business. What made you decide to change your name?"

"I wouldn't say I changed it, exactly. I hyphenated right up to my senior year of high school. Dad's book had just come out, and he had been doing his column in the Times for years, but most people I met day to day hadn't heard of him. I was planning on going to culinary school, but when I applied, everyone was so obsessed with the name that I didn't know if I'd ever be sure that I earned my place or if they thought they could use the name for publicity. So, like any obnoxious teenager, I dropped half of my name and went to my back-up school, Stanford."

"What did your father think of that?"

"He was pretty proud. He's never been one to do something just because it was safe or expected, and he's a punk at heart, so he likes that I'm also in a band, and as long as I'm happy, and do fewer drugs than he's done, he's happy."

"For those who don't know Anthony Balinor, he's the star of _Can't Call Ahead_ on the Travel Channel. So, Merlin, would you rather have a show like yours, or a show like your father's?"

"Oh, this one, definitely. I mean, Dad's show is great, and I would love to do an episode or ten with him, but I really like showing what we do, and that even though I'm technically the star, it's obvious that everyone is important. I feel like if I wasn't there, the show would still be every bit as good, because of Gaius, and Gwen, and Lance, and Freya, and everyone else. But I'm not quite the personality my dad is. He could read out of a cookbook and people would watch. Granted, it might be because they want to see how long it is before he sets the cookbook on fire, but I'm not at that point in my life yet, and I don't know if I ever will be. I like knowing that I'm a part of a team that does amazing things, and if I have to take on extra to make sure that everyone else succeeds, I'm fine with that. "

"It's obvious that, at the very least, you've always wanted to be seen as your own man. How do you feel about the chatter on the food blogs painting you with the same brush as your father in regards to his stance on GMOs?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, it's everywhere right now. I just assumed someone had told you. Apparently, your father has contributed funds to a research group attempting to make cultivated strawberries taste like their wild counterparts. But, given your own emphasis on organic and locally bought ingredients, I was wondering if you would like to clarify your own position."

Merlin frowned slightly, not sure if this was Helen's attempt at hard journalism or if she really didn't understand how divisive a topic GMOs were and that they probably weren't appropriate for a "softball" interview, but he was still willing to speak about it.

"The thing is, we should farm organically whenever possible so that we're not eating pesticides and fungicides, to avoid getting those into the water table. But that's why it's way more important to buy local, as well. You don't have to fill it full of chemicals in order to sell it three thousand miles away if you buy local as much as possible, and if you can't, then it's better to have frozen then have fresh and out of season. Disregarding the environmental cost of transporting it and packaging it in plastic, it's still less than what you need to do to get off-the-vine tomatoes for your Whopper in the middle of January.

"But GMO's should be viewed as a different issue entirely, because humans have been modifying our crops since before we had farming. It's hard to just flat out say no, never, can't happen. You have to ask, why are we modifying this, and how are we modifying this. There's a big difference between trying to introduce the genes for drought resistance into a strain known for its high yields, and bypassing the decades it could take to get the results you want naturally, and modifying corn so that you have to use specific pesticides on it or it will die, or making the seeds sterile and not caring that it can contaminate the entire yield of a farmer who chose not to use your seeds but whose crop goes extinct anyway because of the contamination." Merlin took a deep breath and blushed. "Sorry, I get a little carried away about food politics."

"No, that's good. It makes for good TV. The interview's only going to run for about five minutes as part of our entertainment programming, so I think that's probably enough. Thanks for coming in on such short notice. I see the Pendragons don't fool around in getting things done," she said, nodding to where Arthur was standing behind the crew, watching with a scowl.

"I enjoyed it," Merlin as he stood and reached out to shake her hand. "It was nice meeting you."

"Good luck," She said as he waved and headed over toward Arthur.

"What did you think?"

"I think it would be best if we get in the car so I can take you back to Oakland." Arthur's entire demeanor had changed in the time it had taken to do the interview.

"Did something happen? Is there an emergency that we can't have dinner?"

"No, I just think it would be best if we go now. I know Gaius will prefer having you in tonight rather than covering for you."

Merlin followed Arthur to the parking garage, unsure why Arthur was radiating anger, but resolved to find out before he got out of the car again.

[ ](http://youtu.be/01X8z42_9_U)

The drive to Oakland was uncomfortably silent. Merlin cursed himself for not walking to the nearest BART station or taking a cab. At least then he wouldn't be stuck in rush hour traffic on the Bridge with someone determined to ignore him. Merlin had been excited about the prospect of their date, and foolishly thought he could get to the source of Arthur's anger in time to salvage the evening.

By the time they got to Treasure Island, Merlin couldn't take it any more. "Look, I don't know what's happened to make you so angry, but I can't actually do anything about it if you won't talk to me."

"Let me see, Merlin, why would I be upset? It surely isn't because you never thought I might need to know that your father is famous, and that keeping that information a secret might have consequences. That it would have a real impact on people besides yourself, including everyone in Marketing and Legal, who should have been informed _before_ the show began airing. Or perhaps you could have told _me_ since my press effectively changed from brilliant eye for undiscovered talent, to Hollywood establishment choosing the remake over making something original. I can't imagine why I would be upset by this."

"I know that I don't exactly announce who my father is, but it's not as though it's a well-kept secret, _Arthur_." Merlin spat out. "Anyone can find out who my dad is by putting my name, or my mom's name, or even Gaius's name into Google. Is it my fault that you don't run background checks on your employees, or that Morgana didn't tell you, since you knew we went to school together? She knew me before I stopped talking about it, so I didn't _expect_ her to keep it a secret. Hell, I thought maybe you'd get that I went by my mother's name instead of my father's and ask me about it. None of that changes who I am, whether you call me Merlin Balinor or Merlin Emrys."

"I thought maybe you would tell me the truth, because I thought maybe there was more to us than boss and employee. I thought we might mean more than that."

"Really, Arthur, is that what you thought? We had a romantic dinner that went nowhere because you couldn't tell I was practically usingnaval signal flags to let you know it was more than just dinner, and even after sleeping together, we've barely spoken to each other."

"Well, let's see, you flirt with everyone, and more than flirt with what seems to be anyone you're not actually related to. I'm sorry if I'm not willing to risk my reputation by bed-hopping. I like to know that my partners are interested in more than one night."

"I'm sorry that you don't feel like you can leave the closet, Arthur, but some of us are okay with who we are, and don't need to make excuses about why we can't be happy."

"But see, Merlin, I think we've already proven that I have no idea who you are."

Merlin ground his teeth to keep silent, the force of it making his jaw ache. He couldn't continue the conversation, so he refused to talk until Arthur parked to let him out of the car.

"I don't think I've thanked you for the opportunity to work on this show." He forced a bright smile onto his face. "Have a nice life, Arthur," he said closing the door and walking away.

[ ](http://youtu.be/WEWA3xQ7pOA)

Merlin pulled his scarf tighter about his neck as he exited the 19th Street BART station. The pervasive October fog had turned to a gentle sprinkling of rain, and he hadn't brought his umbrella. He mentally cursed himself for not catching a ride earlier with Gwen and Percy, but the extra forty minutes of sleep had seemed so important at the time.

Plus, he hadn't really been up for dealing with the cheeriness of his two friends this morning. It was the last full day of filming for _A Wizard in the Kitchen_ , and the entire staff had been abuzz with excitement for days, but Merlin only found himself getting more and more irritated and ready for the whole thing to be over.

Arthur hadn't been by, either to the restaurant or any of the offsite filming, since that disastrous interview the previous week. Not that Merlin had expected him to, but he'd almost dared to let himself hope for something like an apology. Not a real one, of course. Arthur Pendragon didn't do apologies, after all, at least not when there was anything real to apologize for. But something. An acknowledgement that their _professional_ relationship was still solid, at least.

But no.

By the time he reached Ambrosia, Merlin had worked himself into quite the funk. Enough so that he didn't even noticed the crowd of people outside until one of them blocked his way with a handheld sign, huge block text in bright red magic marker: "If it ain't ORGANIC, it's PROBLEMATIC!"

Merlin pushed the sign aside, earning himself a very dirty look from the pretty, hemp-clad brunette holding it. He pushed himself through the crowd, only half-paying attention to the signs many of them were holding. He could worry about what was going on once he made sure the rest of Ambrosia's staff was all right.

"That's _him!_ " someone yelled as Merlin broke through the crowd just in front of the entrance to Ambrosia.

Merlin ducked inside just as the man who'd yelled started up a chant: "GMOs gotta GTFO! GMOs gotta GTFO!"

"Merlin!" Gwen, looking more harried than he'd seen her in years, greeted him with a hug. "Thank god you made it. They've stayed on the sidewalk so far, but we were starting to worry they might not once you got here."

"I'm fine," Merlin said, patting her shoulder. "They didn't even recognize me until just before I got in. Gwen, what's going on? Why do we have protesters out front, of all things?"

"It's those ridiculous rumors," Gaius said, coming over to join them.

"What rumors?" Merlin asked, confused. "Is this still that bullshit about my dad's strawberries?"

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen said, and he just knew the sympathy in her voice was the same that had her trying to force-feed him hot cocoa whenever anyone mentioned Arthur in his presence over the past week.

Thankfully, Gaius saved him from having to convince Gwen -- again! -- that really, he was okay with it all. You would have thought he and Arthur had been dating for months, the way she was coddling him.

"Someone," Gaius said, "seems to have decided that we've been lying about the origin of our ingredients. They've been out there raving about imported, genetically modified foods all morning."

"That's ridiculous!" Merlin protested. "You've always made it a point to buy local when you can. Everyone knows that. And we've got a _forager_. How exactly do you go about foraging for imported, genetically-modified produce?"

"It's been building online ever since that interview you did," Gwen admitted. "At first, it was about your father, and then they blew what you said out of proportion, and then it became Ambrosia supporting GMOs and undermining local agriculture."

"You knew about this?" Merlin asked. "Gwen, why didn't you tell me?"

"It was the _internet_ , Merlin," Gwen said patiently. "People say all kinds of crazy things online. Besides, you were already so upset..."

"None of us realized it was serious until we got here to find _that_ outside," Percy said, joining them.

"We weren't keeping it from you on purpose," Gwen said.

"No," Merlin agreed, shaking his head. "No, of course you weren't. Sorry. I'm just tired and annoyed and snappish."

"You and the rest of us," Gaius said. "But, now, let's leave that problem until later, hmm?"

Merlin glanced out the front window. The crowd was still there, at least twenty people by his count, but he couldn't do anything about them now. Right now, the best he could do to ease everyone's worry was to do his job the best he could.

"Well, then," Merlin said, putting on his best confident grin, "we'd better get back to the kitchen. Come on; let's make some magic."

[ ](http://youtu.be/8yvEYKRF5IA)

They held the wrap party for _Wizard in the Kitchen_ on a Thursday night. Everyone on staff collaborated on the guest list, and they all hoped that the protesters didn't decide to call the fire marshal about them being over capacity. Gaius had asked Percy to act as bouncer for the night, since the protesters showed no sign of leaving and taking their terrible signs with them.

Merlin was relieved that filming was finally over, and even more relieved that he hadn't signed a contract for more then one season. If FoodTV wanted to renew the series, they would have to do it without him. He had never been interested in that kind of fame anyway, but now that he had done it successfully, he would probably never hurt for television work again. He also suspected that before the show finished airing, he would start being offered book deals, and guest spots on other shows. He might not have done this before, but he was familiar with the process thanks to his parents. Even with the local press being horrible about the protests, and his interview airing with selective edits, he still felt confident that he would always be able to find work in this industry.

He made his way through the crowd, shaking hands and hugging people when necessary, as he headed toward the bar. Gaius had arranged things so the staff were taking 15-minutes shifts tending the bar to allow everyone the chance to mingle with their guests. Since Merlin didn't want to mingle, he grabbed a beer from the bar, and tried to find a corner to hide in. Unfortunately, before he could do that, Gaius caught up with him and pulled him towards an empty table.

"Timothy Kilgharrah is around here somewhere. I've asked everyone to keep an eye out for him and keep him away from my office. The last thing I want is for him to get into my glaucoma stash. If you see Tim, I would appreciate if you let him know that I have changed my medication, and that it would be unwise for him to take another man's prescription."

"Gaius, why don't you just tell him you don't want to share your drugs with him?"

Gaius's eyebrow shot straight into his hairline. "You have met Tim, haven't you, Merlin? You try telling that man to do anything he doesn't want to do. Especially when he feels he's earned it in some way due to his suffering. He's convinced that since I'm some sort of a traitor by working with Uther Pendragon, I should take it upon myself to provide him with a balm for his troubles."

"You could always bribe him with brownies."

"Don't be cheeky. I need to make sure the druids are sticking to the well liquors for everything but the champagne. We're going to bring out the hors d'oeuvres shortly. You should check in with them and make sure that none of those jokers decided to serve Easy Cheese on Ritz crackers."

Merlin nodded, grateful for an excuse to avoid the party. He headed toward the kitchen, grabbed a plate and selected hors d'oeuvres from each of the many trays, justifying the action with the knowledge that he would have to give commentary on them later. Pulling out his keys, he let himself into the stockroom so he could hide in peace. He made the decision to leave the light off, since he didn't want anyone to notice the light under the door. Gaius had installed emergency lighting after the first time Merlin had accidentally locked himself in the stockroom when he was fifteen and couldn't see to get out. Making himself comfortable on the floor, he sat with his food and beer, and proceeded to get his sulk on.

"Young chef."

"Jesus fuck! Dude, what are you doing in here?" Merlin started badly, losing his balance and almost falling into the metro racks. The Great Dragon was lounging in the far corner.

"These are troubling times we live in. The witches seek to destroy you. You must be vigilant, and strike back decisively before it's too late to combat their lies."

"You don't understand how the internet works, do you? Have you heard of birthers? Once people start to believe a rumor, no matter how stupid, they don't need any more proof that someone else on the internet said it was true. It's too late to fix it, and I wouldn't even know where to start."

"You could expose the truth about them."

"Who are _they_? I have no idea where all of this started, and I don't know why they've decided to hate me."

"Do you not have enemies? Those who would view you as an obstacle to their scheming?"

"Not really, I mean those crazies from Blessed... Oh, witches."

"Yes, young Merlin. You have interfered with them just by your existence. You, and your father before you, represent everything they seek to eradicate from this industry. Patriarchal domination in professional kitchens, rationalizations for the consumption of flesh, national exposure for views that contradict their own beliefs. But your partnership with Pendragon gives you power they can never hope to have. They cannot defeat you so long as you stand together."

Merlin frowned. "It's too late, then. Arthur wants nothing to do with me. Even if we get a second season, it's going to be too late to save Ambrosia if no one comes to eat here because of the protesters."

"You have the potential to become the greatest chef who has ever lived. Already, I see that you are the equal of those before you who had the gall to name themselves Dragonlords."

The Dragon stood up, and dusted himself off, even though Merlin knew for a fact the room was spotless. "Do not let your loyalty to Gaius prevent you from achieving your destiny. Your path as a chef may be set, but only you can determine how you walk along it, and how far you've travelled by the end." He opened the door and walked out.

Merlin rubbed his hands over his face, trying to make sense of what the old bastard had said and steeling himself to return to the party and be a good host. Half the people here were going to want to talk to him, and the sooner he got it out of the way, the sooner they'd go home and he'd be able to think about his next steps.

[ ](http://youtu.be/6-pywHFUbGw)

Merlin had thought that knowing there was a conspiracy against him would make it easier to fight, but he was exhausted, and things were not getting better. He had tried defending himself in blogs, and had agreed to a couple of interviews, but he had been unable to make his case in any medium. In fact, he felt as though his attempts to fix things had only made the situation that much worse.

Business was beginning to suffer at Ambrosia as well. The protesters wouldn't go away, and too few people were willing to cross a picket line when they wanted a quiet dinner. Even though the ratings for _Wizard in the Kitchen_ continued to climb, it wasn't enough to fill the restaurant's tables.

The stress of it all meant that Merlin hid in his apartment whenever he wasn't working. He canceled on band practice, and neither of the Wills had been successful in their attempts to drag him to a bar. He had tried calling Arthur several times, but it was obvious that Arthur wanted nothing to do with him. He had, however, begun to develop a friendship with Arthur's assistant Leon, who promised he was delivering Merlin's messages. By the end of the week, he'd stopped answering his phone entirely, whether to avoid everyone's concern or to keep the line open in case Arthur called to apologize, he wasn't certain.

On Thursday, he had a message from Taliesin Baird's assistant informing him that Mr. Baird had seen _Wizard in the Kitchen,_ and was enthusiastic about the prospect of Merlin joining his team. Merlin had to admit it was the high point of his week. There was a small part of him that wanted to celebrate that someone so important was interested in his career, but he didn't know how to tell anyone. What should be a source of pride would only be divisive among his friends.

By Saturday, Merlin had decided he had wallowed long enough. He needed to get on with his life and forget about Blessed Cafe and Arthur, and he decided to do that by acting like a complete fool in a location that served alcohol.

It was then that he ran face first into the realization he couldn't expect his friends to be at his beck and call while he worked out his drama. Gwen and Lance were apparently dating Morgana Pendragon (and it was just weird to realize he had seen all of them naked, although with Lance it was because Gwen had talked them both into going to Burning Man). He had even tried to call Gwaine for a hook-up, looking for fun yet meaningless sex to cheer him up, but Gwaine seemed to be smitten with someone, and Merlin did have to admit he would make a poor partner right now.

For the first time in years, Merlin had begun to wonder if perhaps there was more for him in life if he just put in the effort. He rarely challenged himself. Excluding his college career, every aspect of his life had been handed to him. Maybe it was finally time to see if he could make something of himself on his own. Taliesin Baird had offered him a job, not because he was on TV, or because his father was famous, but because he had eaten Merlin's cooking and thought it was special. It could be the perfect opportunity to finally know if he could be as good as he wanted to be.

He knew he needed to talk to someone about this. It was too big to rush into, but he didn't know who he could trust to give him an unbiased opinion. His mom and Gaius would tell him to stop worrying about them and to follow his heart. Gwen would become flustered trying to be concerned, proud, and helpful all at the same time. She would trip over her sentences trying to make it okay and convince him she wasn't secretly disappointed in him. Gwaine would tell him he was sure he had slept with at least one other drummer so it would be fine. Will (either of them really) would yell at him for running away, and Freya would try to talk him into eloping so she could get her citizenship and a ticket to New York.

There was no one he could talk to who could tell him if he was ruining his life or crazy for not taking the chance without letting their own emotions toward him get in the way.

When he realized he did have someone like that in his life, he only just managed to stopped himself from banging his head into the wall while he pulled out his phone.

It had barely begun to ring when he heard the voice he wanted. "Tony here."

"Hey, Dad. You got some time?"

"Merlin! I saw your show. Did you get the congratulatory case of champagne I sent you?"

"Yeah Dad, My friends got into it. I don't know if Will had ever had the French stuff."

"I'll tell you son, it's a nice thing to know you have a legacy. I might have opinions about some of the people at your network, but I'm damned proud of you for getting there on your own."

"You? Opinionated? I don't believe that for a second."

"If you're going to be a smart-mouth, I'll have to come out there and remind you to respect your elders."

"Mom would love it if you did." Merlin paused, "What if I came to see you instead?"

"For a vacation?"

"No, things are kind of rough here, and Taliesin Baird wants me to start training to take over at the Crystal Cave."

"Rough enough to give up your own restaurant?" His father sounded doubtful. "I know Gaius is going to retire as soon as he can get you to pay attention to the books." he paused. "I certainly think you could be great at the Cave, but it's a completely different environment, and while it has the ability to make any chef there famous, you're already well on your way to finding your own fame. The best it could do for you is show that despite starting in the Bay, you're good enough to survive in a New York kitchen. "

"I know all of that. I really need your advice, Dad. You're the only person I know who really understands all sides of the argument. You know me, and you know what it's like to put everything on the line for a shot at what you love most."

"So, you want to know if I think you should take your shot at the big leagues."

"Please don't use baseball metaphors," Merlin sighed.

"I'll let you stay with me while you plan your next move on the condition that you tell me when you started to dislike metaphorical baseball." His father's voice was teasing.

"I suppose I can do that. You really don't mind?" Merlin tried not to sound too desperate.

"Of course I don't mind. I never see you, and if you stay long enough, your mom might visit."

"So, you think I should do it?"

"I think you don't sound happy, and if nothing else, you need a change of scenery. I might not know the whole story, but I do keep an eye on your press." There was a note of pride in his father's voice.

"I should have known you'd be a Google stalker. I'm going to call Taliesin, and then I'll have to talk to Mom and Uncle Gaius and everyone else to let them know. This would be so much easier if I could just sneak off in the night and be done with it." Merlin hoped he didn't sound like he was whining.

"I know, but your mom will kill us both if you don't at least tell her. Make sure Taliesin pops for first class."

"Thanks Dad. I'll let you know when to expect me." Merlin disconnected the call, nervous about leaving, but feeling a little lighter than he had since everything had gone to shit.


	5. Chapter 5

[ ](http://youtu.be/zac0QEbQbE8)

Arthur picked up his phone, prepared to send it to voicemail like he'd done with half the calls he'd received over the past week. Merlin had called once a day, almost like clockwork, since filming ended. Arthur knew he'd need to talk to him eventually, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. Not when he wasn't even sure whether or not he'd been hasty in his anger.

And then there was Morgana. At first, he'd thought it was mere happenstance the way every conversation they had seemed to turn to Ambrosia, but after a few calls (much more frequent than he was used to, actually, once he thought about it), he started to get suspicious. The faux offense she'd taken when he suggested that perhaps she was bringing it up on purpose had only confirmed his suspicions. He did _not_ need his sister trying to meddle in his personal life.

Of course, he couldn't ignore his sister entirely, but he _could_ let her go to voicemail anytime she called his direct line. If she had something important to discuss with him, she could go through Leon like everyone else.

The number that popped up on his phone wasn't Morgana, though, or Merlin. He recognized the prefix as coming from one of United Airlines' in-flight phones. Perhaps his father had run into trouble flying back from Chicago? Although why he was calling Arthur instead of his PA, Arthur couldn't imagine.

Oh, god. Unless there was some media hubbub that Uther had caught wind of. Arthur might have been avoiding the normal gossip channels just a bit, recently. Not because of Merlin, of course, but because he didn't like being reminded that a project he was so closely involved in was under such media scrutiny. He got enough of that with The Snake.

It was with great trepidation, then, that he answered the call.

"Father," he said, forcing himself to be calm, "is everything all right? Your plane wasn't delayed, was it?"

There was soft laughter on the other side of the phone, and Arthur felt his stomach clench. This call definitely wasn't from his father.

"Delayed for almost an hour," Merlin said, "but we got off the ground all right finally. Never thought I'd see the day you'd confuse me with Uther, though."

"Merlin," Arthur said, forcing himself to remain calm. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"Obviously," Merlin said, "since you picked up the phone."

"Ah," Arthur said. "About that..."

"Don't bother explaining," Merlin interrupted. "It's obvious enough. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm calling you. Probably has something to do with that fifth Jack and Coke. Did you know United gives free cocktails to first class passengers? I didn't. Might just be because of the delay."

Arthur wanted to tell Merlin to call back later. He needed to prepare for this conversation, dammit. And he _certainly_ didn't want to be having it while Merlin was drunk. But...

"Merlin, why are you on a plane?" he found himself asking.

Again, the soft laughter. "‘S too far to drive," Merlin answered. "Don't think my car'd make it, anyway. Need to get a new car. The shocks are shot, and I think the transmission's starting to go."

Arthur shook his head. He didn't care about Merlin's car. "Where is too far to drive?" he asked.

"New York." Merlin said. "‘S why I called. Offered me a job."

Arthur felt like the ground had just dropped out from under him. A job? In _New York_? That was the other side of the country! He wasn't ready for Merlin to be on the other side of the country!

"What about Ambrosia?" he asked. "What about Gaius?" _What about me?_ he wanted to ask, but he knew that wasn't fair.

"They'll be better off without me," Merlin said. "This whole internet controversy thing, it's about me. If I leave, the gossip will follow me, because I'm famous now.

"You helped make me famous, Arthur," he continued, "and other people recognize that I deserve it, even if you don't. They put me in first class, Arthur. Not because of you, and not because of my father. Because of me. Because I'm _that_ good, that valuable."

"I _know_ that, Merlin," Arthur scoffed, feeling annoyed. "That's _why_ I wanted you on the show." He made a snap decision, not giving himself time to second-guess it. "And that's why I want you back for a second season. I don't care about internet controversies. If anything, they'll boost ratings."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Arthur could hear Merlin's breathing, and behind it, the sounds of a flight attendant asking someone if they took cream and sugar with their coffee.

"You want me to come back?" Merlin asked, finally.

"Absolutely," Arthur said. "Just tell me when to expect you and I'll have a contract ready before you get off your plane."

There was another long pause. Arthur realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale.

"You want me back for the show," Merlin said, after another long minute.

"Yes, of course," Arthur answered. "I just said that." And anything else, they could work out later, after he decided whether or not he'd forgiven Merlin for keeping things from him. Right now, he just needed to convince Merlin to get his ass back to California, where he belonged.

"No," Merlin said.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. "What do you mean ‘no'?"

"I mean _no_ , Arthur," Merlin said. "The show will have to go on without me."

Arthur swallowed down a lump in his throat. "I see," he said. "Well, have a good trip, then."

"I plan on it. Goodbye, Arthur."

"Goodbye," Arthur whispered, but the line had already gone dead.

[ ](http://youtu.be/gcw9jkvB4Jo)

"Here's the deal," Elena said as soon as Gwaine opened the door. "I've brought a dozen different beers," she continued, hefting the canvas bags she held in either hand, "and we're going to sample all of them. I expect you to keep up and provide insightful commentary on the merits of each beer as well as engaging and witty conversation, or I'm afraid this thing between us just isn't going to work out."

Gwaine grinned. "Sounds like my kind of party," he said, reaching to take one of the bags from her.

She felt something in her relax as she grinned back. She really had no idea what she was doing with Gwaine. Hook ups weren't supposed to result in dates, no matter _how_ good they were. Certainly not multiple dates. And still she kept finding herself back in Gwaine's loft, and not just for sex, although there was plenty of that.

Eight beers and twelve attempts to resolve the current economic crisis later, Elena had the brilliant idea of flipping on the news.

"Obviously," she said, turning up the volume, "we have to know what they've decided to break today if we're going to have a chance of fixing it."

Gwaine shook his head. "Won't work. There are hundreds of them and only two of us."

"True," Elena admitted as she crawled back to the couch, remote in hand. "But we're at _least_ a couple hundred times as smart as anyone in Congress, so we've got the advantage."

 _"In local news,"_ the somber blonde anchor was saying, _"a section of Grand Avenue was blocked for nearly an hour this afternoon when a group of protesters mobbed a van carrying a church youth group that they mistakenly thought was a catering van. We go now to Owain Knight with the story."_

The scene cut to a sharply-dressed newscaster, standing on a street that looked vaguely familiar to Elena. She squinted, trying to focus enough in her drunken state that she could place it. Something on TV, maybe? Or a movie. She couldn't remember.

 _"Seven members of the Trinity Lutheran Church youth group, along with their youth pastor, got more than they bargained for when they headed to the Grand Lake Theater this evening. When Reverend Johanna--"_

"You're right," Elena said, muting the TV and sinking back into the couch. "We've got no hope. When crazies start attacking church kids just out trying to see a movie, your society's completely beyond any hope of repair."

Gwaine was shaking his head, frowning at the TV. "No, there's something weird, here."

"Well, of _course_ it's weird," Elena said. "That's what I'm saying! This is the end of civilization as we know it."

"No," Gwaine said. "I mean, that's Ambrosia. And I think I recognize some of those crazies."

"Oh," Elena said, wilting. "It's so _sad_ , what's happening to the restaurant. Arthur told me all about it. I think he feels bad for putting Merlin up to that interview, even if he won't say so."

Gwaine snorted. "Good. He should feel bad. I _swear_ I know that redhead from somewhere. And those twins..."

"You shouldn't be so hard on Arthur," Elena told him. "He tries, you know. It's just, with his family..."

"That's it!" Gwaine said, turning toward her, excitement in his eyes.

"Arthur's family?"

"No, no," Gwaine said, shaking his head. "The redhead. And the twins. And I think maybe the girl with the pink streaks in the background, too. Elena, _I've slept with all of them_."

Elena stared at him. "Oh. Um. Good for you?"

"No, don't you see? Everyone I sleep with ends up either in a band or a cult, and I know _exactly_ which cult those protesters are involved with."

"Oh my god," Elena said, horrified. "Gwaine, are you trying to tell me I could end up in a _band?_ I'm not cut out for that kind of life! I can't play any instruments. I can't even sing!"

"That's not important right now," Gwaine said. "I'll talk Merlin into teaching you to play the triangle or something. What's important right now is that I think the protests are a setup."

"A setup?" Elena immediately forgot her impending musicianship. This was like something out of a movie, or high school. "You mean, like, a _conspiracy?_ "

"Exactly," Gwaine said grimly. "Those women, they all take self-actualization classes at The Blessed Cafe. And I'm pretty sure the guy with the unibrow teaches yoga there."

"That's awful," Elena said. "Gwaine, we have to stop them!"

"Yes," Gwaine said, popping the top off another beer. "But how?"

"Well, obviously, we're going to have to break into the cafe and find proof," Elena said.

Gwaine choked on the beer. " _Break in?_ "

"Of course. How else would you find proof that a major competitor is trying to sabotage your business?" She took in his wary expression and patted his hand comfortingly. "Don't worry. I've done this sort of thing before."

"You have?"

"Of course," she said. "Now, let's finish this beer and see what you've got in the way of proper burglar wear."

Gwaine, it turned out, had a _lot_ of proper burglar wear, including two ninja masks he'd found at a thrift shop. "This way, if Lapin Tueur ever needs to make a music video, we've already got ninja costumes," he explained. Elena was impressed with his foresight.

They were too intoxicated to drive, so they had to walk. Gwaine kept the masks inside his jacket to keep from arousing suspicion.

It was after midnight when they arrived at The Blessed Cafe, and the cafe and all its surrounding shops were completely dark. Elena pulled Gwaine into a nearby alley, and they slipped their masks on.

"We'll go around back and see what kind of lock they've got on the rear door," she told him. "The bars on the front will be impossible to get through."

"What if they've got bars on the windows in the back?" Gwaine whispered back. "Do we scale the building?"

It was probably the stupidest question anyone had ever asked her during a break-in, but it was also a bit cute, so Elena just kissed him before slipping into the shadows and making her way around the back of the cafe.

The back door had three deadbolts. Not good. You couldn't pick deadbolts, and breaking that many locks would cause one hell of a ruckus.

"Psst!" Gwaine whispered from off to her right. "Elena!"

Elena turned toward him with a finger to her lips, then tapped her temple with one finger to indicate that she was thinking and he should stop interrupting her.

Gwaine made a flailing motion that Elena thought might indicate that he needed to pee. Or really liked modern dance. Or something. She shook her head and turned back to the door. If the wood were thin enough, she _might_ be able to get through it with her hacksaw, but then it would be obvious someone had broken in.

"Psst!" Gwaine said again.

Elena turned to look at him, and Gwaine gestured toward the building, and then pantomimed...dancing at a gay bar in the 90's? Elena shrugged. She had no idea what he was trying to say.

Gwaine rolled his eyes, then reached over and pushed open the window he was standing next to.

Elena hopped off the landing she'd been standing on and threw her arms around him. "You're brilliant," she whispered in Gwaine's ear. "I can't believe they leave their windows unlocked."

"It's true," Gwaine whispered back. "I am. Let me give you a lift up."

Inside, the cafe was completely dark. Elena found herself having to switch on the Mini Maglite she'd brought with her, just to keep from tripping over anything, although she was careful to keep the light out of view of the windows. She thought she was quite clever for thinking of this, and Gwaine seemed to think so, too, since he stopped in the hallway to make out with her when she mentioned it.

Once they remembered what they were actually doing there, it didn't take long to find the office. It was the only room in the building that wasn't the main dining room or the storeroom or the kitchen, and it had a big brass sign on it that said "OFFICE" in black block letters.

"We'll have to search the filing cabinets," Elena whispered as she swung her flashlight about the room, examining its contents. "And you should see what you can find on the computer. It's not likely that we'll find proof of anything out in the--"

She stopped, suddenly, as her light came to rest on a dry-erase board hanging on the far wall.

"Or, maybe they really are that stupid," she said as she examined what appeared to be a detailed plan for putting Ambrosia out of business.

"Or just that cocky," Gwaine agreed, picking up a sheaf of papers from the bookshelf directly beneath the dry-erase board. Looking over his shoulder, Elena could see that they were printouts of information on Tony Balinor.

"Either way," Elena said, "I think we've found our proof."

She pulled her phone from her back pocket and started to snap pictures. She only hoped she had enough room on her memory card to get everything important.

[ ](http://youtu.be/ERTT_sv8sV0)

Movie night was something of a tradition for Gwen and Lance. They tried to arrange four hours of every week where they had no obligations to anything else, so they could sit on Lance's couch and have time just for themselves. Tonight's date in was doubly special, because it was the first time they had invited Morgana to join them.

The movie was some French thing that Gwen was fairly sure Morgana had picked out because they had all mentioned they'd liked it, and it wouldn't require them to focus too heavily on the screen. They'd all settled onto the couch with their fresh popped popcorn and glasses of wine. Morgana was in the middle, in order to emphasize that they were all doing this together.

The movie had been playing for an hour when there was pounding on the door.

"Lance, dude, open up." Gwen wasn't sure if she or Lance had it in them to murder Gwaine, but judging from Morgana's expression, she had no such reservations.

Lance extricated himself from the couch and opened the door. "Go away, it's date night." He managed to block Gwaine from entering, but Elena twisted around him until she was half inside the apartment.

"You have to let us in. We've just returned from a secret, deadly mission and have news that's vitally important to the resistance."

"Elena Godwin?" Morgana said getting up to join Lance at the door. "Are you drunk?"

"No! Well yes, but that's not important," Elena informed them.

"We're spectacularly drunk. Otherwise it would _never_ have occurred to us that the only way to save Merlin would be to break into the Blessed Cafe," Gwaine said.

"Break in...You didn't drive tonight did you?" Gwen hoped they hadn't committed more than one crime tonight.

"Save Merlin? It's a little late for that, given that he's already left. Also, get in here before someone calls the police," Lance said before either of them could answer Gwen, moving aside to let them in.

"This is why I don't like Berkeley. No one would call the cops in Oakland," Gwaine said sullenly as he staggered inside. "Also, dear Guinevere, we walked. Didn't want anyone getting the license plate of the getaway car." They both looked like they had been cosplaying as cat burglars.

"You walked." Morgana said, rolling her eyes at them as everyone headed back to the living room. "Elena, are you barefoot?"

"Gwaine didn't have ninja shoes that would fit me."

"Ninja." Gwen realized there was no choice but to be the one person in the room capable of common sense. "You two, sit on the couch and stay there. Lance, grab chairs for the three of us so we can see them while they tell us what must be an interesting story. Morgana, dear, would you mind helping me start a pot of coffee?"

Once in the kitchen, Gwen handed Morgana the coffee carafe, while she grabbed the beans to grind them. "Fill it all the way. It might not sober them up, but I suspect we're in for a long night and are going to need it." Morgana did as asked, and once Gwen had the coffeemaker turned on, they went back to the living room to get answers.

"Okay, start talking," she said as she, Morgana, and Lance took their seats.

"The Blessed cult people are conspiring against you guys, so we had to go get evidence. And we did," Elena said. She leaned back on the couch in a vain attempt to gain enough leverage to get her hand into her pocket.

"Where would you even get such an idea?" Gwen asked.

"From the news. You know how I've only slept with musicians and cultists? I recognized the cultists," Gwaine said, rolling his eyes like it was obvious.

"What was on the news?" Lance said.

"They're not a cult," Morgana said at the same time.

Everyone stopped talking, Elena stopped trying to get whatever it was out of her pocket, and they all just looked at Morgana.

"What? They're not. People just don't understand raw food."

Lance put his hand on her knee for reassurance. "They make all their employees take classes on self-actualization."

"They all call the owners ‘priestess,'" Gwen added.

"It's okay," Elena said, scooting forward on the couch and reaching until she could put her hand on Morgana's other knee. "It's still a delicious cult."

"Now that that's settled." Gwaine pulled Elena back onto the couch before she fell off the edge. "I saw some of my exes on video at the protest."

" _Some_ of your exes?" Morgana asked.

"So, ‘ex' might be generous, but the point is, I knew that they _all_ work for Blessed now, and none of them would be at a protest unless Morgause and Nimueh told them to be there, because half those guys can't wipe their asses unless Morgause tells them to _and_ hands them the roll of organically sourced, unbleached, recycled toilet paper," Gwaine said as he pulled an iPhone out of his pocket.

"Hey, you had it," Elena said reaching for the phone.

"Yeah, you told me your pockets weren't real." he replied with a leer, handing her the phone.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "So, what evidence did you find exactly?"

Elena fiddled with her phone and handed it to Morgana. "You can scroll through and see. They had a whiteboard, with _plans_ on it. Terrible plans, and we have to do something to stop it before they get to stage four."

The others looked at the pictures. They were fairly clear, considering, and only two of them were inappropriate shots of Gwaine. The evidence was pretty damning. Morgana had obviously recognized the room, given how fast she stood up and handed the phone to Gwen before heading into the kitchen.

"What's stage four?" Lance asked.

"We don't know, but if we're just at stage three, it's got to be horrible," Elena responded.

Morgana came back out carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and her Blackberry in the other. "Elena, you will have water and then a cup of coffee, and you will attempt to pass for sober within the next hour. I'm contacting my assistant Aglain to find us a conference room and contact Arthur's PA. You will be joining me to convince Leon to corral Arthur and to get Arthur to make things up to Merlin, and get him back to Oakland for a second season. If you do not, I will call your father and tell him you have embarked on a criminal career with a professional musician."

"Gwaine doesn't count as a bad boyfriend. His stocks have vested," Elena said, pouting.

"What?" Morgana almost dropped her phone.

"Yeah. I might have at one point been involved in an Internet security company, and am kind of independently wealthy." Gwaine looked slightly embarrassed that he'd actually confessed to that.

"So, you're a hacker? Can you mobilize the troops to clean up the mess made of Ambrosia's reputation?" Morgana asked.

"Oh, do you have a Guy Fawkes mask?" Elena was leering at Gwaine, and Gwen really didn't want to know why that, of all things, would do it.

"I could probably arrange something." Gwaine responded, but to which of them, Gwen wasn't completely sure.

"Make your plans. I'll drop you off when I take Elena to meet Leon. I need to call in a favor and book an interview for Gaius to tackle these rumors head on. Gwen, Lance, may I impose on you to make sure Gaius is passably sober when it happens?"

"Of course, Morgana. If this works, it's worth anything." Gwen answered.

Morgana smiled at her. "I'm really sorry about our date, but I'm going to try to make things right," she said as she snuck back into the kitchen to make her phone calls.

[ ](http://youtu.be/3g_S6sQGCrU border=)

"Arthur, we need to talk." Leon's voice was firm, and he intentionally used Arthur's first name instead of something more formal so the other man would know that he was addressing him as a friend, not an employee.

Arthur didn't take the hint. He looked up from the papers strewn across his desk with bleary eyes. "If it's about The Snake, tell Father I've taken care of it. There's a press release scheduled for this afternoon."

"It's not about The Snake," Leon said, seating himself in one of the chairs on the far side of Arthur's desk. "I just got back from a meeting with Elena Godwin." Along with Morgana, although he thought Arthur was best left in the dark about that. Someday, Arthur really was going to have to get over balking at anything his sister thought was important. Morgana might be young still, and a bit rash at times, but she was a smart woman, and often saw things that others missed.

Arthur frowned. "Elena? What sort of meeting? Why wasn't I invited? Leon, you know how important the Godwins are to my father, both professionally and personally. Anything involving them should have been brought to me immediately."

"This wasn't about the Godwins, Arthur," Leon said somberly. "This meeting was about you."

"Me?" Arthur's frown deepened. "Why on earth would you be meeting with Elena about _me_?"

Leon rested his hands on the desk, a trick he'd learned in public speaking class in college for appearing trustworthy. "We're worried about you, Arthur. All of your friends are. You haven't been yourself, lately, and I know you're upset about how filming _A Wizard in the Kitchen_ affected the staff of Ambrosia."

Arthur's face went blank, in that way it did when he was dealing with a particularly difficult client. Or his father. "While I am concerned that the popularity of the show may have contributed in some way to the negative press Ambrosia has been receiving, I don't feel responsible, if that's what you're getting at."

"No," Leon said carefully, "that's not what I'm getting at."

"Good," Arthur continued, arranging the papers on his desk into (completely random, as far as Leon could tell) neat piles. "Because if anyone's to blame, it's Merlin. Er, Chef Emrys. He should have been more upfront about his relationship with Anthony Balinor and considered the problems it might have caused the restaurant."

"I'm pretty sure Gaius, at least, was aware of Merlin's parentage," Leon said. "He is Merlin's uncle, after all."

"Yes, well..." Arthur floundered.

"You'll be happy to know," Leon pressed on, unwilling to give Arthur the opportunity to come up with further justifications for acting a fool, "that Ms. Godwin discovered the source of the rumors."

"Source of the rumors?" Arthur asked. "Are you suggesting this was more than the media and public overreacting to a juicy bit of gossip?"

"I'm not suggesting, Arthur," Leon said. "Elena found evidence. The whole debacle was a smear campaign, spearheaded by the owners of the Blessed Cafe."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, looking troubled. "Then I _am_ responsible," he said. "At least partially, if this is about them being upset over not getting offered the show."

"That does appear to have been a contributing factor," Leon agreed.

Arthur slapped a hand down on his desk, leaning forward. "We have to fix this," he said.

"I agree," Leon said, "which is why I came to see you."

"We'll need to set up an interview," Arthur said. "Something friendly and informal for some of the Ambrosia staff, where they can address the rumors head-on."

"Already taken care of," Leon told him. "Your sister pulled some strings, and Gaius has a spot with Katie Couric tomorrow morning. He's coming in this afternoon so our PR people can brief him on how to handle any tough questions." The interview had been in the works for several days, and would have gone ahead with or without Arthur's say-so, but it was a relief to see Arthur really thinking again instead of moping.

Arthur looked surprised, but nodded. "Good. If you've talked to my sister, I assume she's got some ideas about how to best address the spread of misinformation online?"

Leon nodded. "She's gathered some of her best people to work on exposing the source of the rumors and discrediting Nimueh Linn and Morgause Cornysh." He left out the part where Morgana's ‘best people' were a rather sketchy-looking lot, and seemed to include that guitar player Elena was seeing.

"It sounds like Morgana's got that in hand, then," Arthur said, "and, much as it pains me to admit it, she's far better at handling online communities than I will ever be." He stopped and gave Leon a stern look. "Don't ever repeat that."

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," Leon said.

"The episode with the Ambrosia staff at the Live Local fundraiser is due to air in two weeks," Arthur continued. "Schedule a meeting for me with the editing staff. I want to make sure that one sends the right message."

Leon pulled out his iPad. "How about next Tuesday at one?"

"Perfect," Arthur said. "That's a good start, but surely you and Elena must have come up with some ideas about what needs to be done or you wouldn't be here. Talk to me, Leon. What angle am I missing?"

Leon set his iPad on the edge of Arthur's desk and folded his hands in his lap. "Well," he said, "there is the matter of Chef Emrys."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, just a fraction. "What about Chef Emrys?"

"I don't know if you're aware," Leon said, "but Chef Emrys has been offered a very prestigious position at a restaurant in New York."

"Yes," Arthur said, his voice tight, "I'd heard that."

Leon had suspected that was the case. Arthur had told him about the blowup over Merlin's father, and had been all kinds of sulky since, but that was nothing compared to the cloud of gloom he'd become since Merlin left for New York.

"He's obviously a huge asset to Ambrosia," Leon continued, "and Gaius, as well as most of the other staff, believe that the recent controversy has contributed significantly to Merlin's decision to go to New York."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Arthur said. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Someone needs to explain to Chef Emrys that we've got the situation well in hand," Leon said. "That way, he can make his decision based purely on the merits of the two jobs. It also probably wouldn't hurt if we made a formal offer for a second season of A Wizard in the Kitchen. The critics are impressed with the show, and so is your father; it would be a sound business decision."

Arthur shook his head. "I already offered Mer-- Chef Emrys the opportunity for a second season. He declined."

"But that was before we had the rumor situation under control," Leon pointed out. "It wouldn't hurt to make the offer again, along with an explanation."

"Fine," Arthur said in a clipped tone. "Draw up a formal offer and have it sent to Chef Emrys in New York. But don't get too attached to the idea. He seemed to have his mind quite made up when I last spoke to him."

Leon forced down a grimace. "Arthur," he said slowly, "we've known each other for a long time, and you know I consider you a friend as well as my employer."

"I don't need you to be my friend right now," Arthur said. "I need you to be my personal assistant and take care of this."

"That's bullshit, and we both know it," Leon said. "You're a mess, Pendragon, and I'm not the only one who's noticed. Elena's worried about you, your sister's worried about you... Hell, even Alined over in Legal cornered me this morning to ask if you were all right."

"I'm fine," Arthur said.

"The last time I saw you this ‘fine,' Arthur, you'd just left your fiancee and were halfway through a bottle of Jack Daniel's."

Arthur's eyes dropped, and he stared at a point just beyond his desk. "I _will_ be fine, then," he insisted. "I have to be. I can't change what's happened, so I have to live with it."

"Arthur--" Leon began.

"And it's not like we really _had_ anything, anyway," Arthur went on. "Mutual attraction and a one-off in a catering van hardly constitutes a relationship."

"That was more information than I actually needed," Leon said, "but you're being stupid. Whatever happened or didn't happen, it's obvious it meant something to _you_."

Arthur looked up at him, a pained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It doesn't matter what it meant. I still can't change anything."

"Arthur," Leon said, "does he _know_ that it meant something to you?"

"Of course he does," Arthur said. "I told him so when we were fighting."

It took a great deal of effort, but Leon managed to refrain from banging his head into the nearest wall. "And have you talked to him about it since? Have you even had _any_ conversations about your relationship that didn't involve shouting?"

"Well," Arthur said, "no."

"Don't you think that's a possibility you might want to explore before giving up entirely?"

Arthur stared at him. "Oh, god," he said after an impossibly long minute. "I'm an idiot."

"Sometimes," Leon agreed.

"I have to talk to him," Arthur said. "I need to--" He pulled himself up straight. "Leon, book me a flight to New York."

"Already taken care of," Leon said. "Your flight leaves first thing in the morning. The confirmation number is in the front pocket of your suitcase, in the trunk of your car."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "My suitcase?"

Leon nodded. "With your toiletries and a week's worth of clothes. You really should finish up whatever you were working on so you can get home and get to bed. When I said first thing in the morning, I meant it. You need to be at the airport by five."

"Right," Arthur said, coming around the desk. "I'll yell at you later for doing this without consulting me first. Find out where Merlin is staying and email me the address and directions so I have them in the morning."

"Address and directions are in the same envelope as the confirmation number for your flight," Leon told him.

"Sometimes," Arthur said, "I really don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'd rather not consider it," Leon said. "Now go get some sleep so you can catch your goddamn plane."

[ ](http://youtu.be/TdorgC9qUkI)

What had seemed like a good idea when Arthur got on the plane in San Francisco had lost its luster by the time he was trying to sleep in the back of a production van on its way to Brooklyn. Leon had booked him the first direct flight out of the city, which meant he had been awake at 3am to get ready and get to the airport. Between the time difference, and not really sleeping the night before or on the plane, he felt on edge and foolish. Perhaps it had been a mistake to stay awake on the flight and arrange for a film crew to take him to the address Leon had provided. He had wanted to make a grand gesture so that Merlin would take his apology seriously. That if it was recorded for posterity, his declarations could physically be placed in Uther's hands, than Merlin would have to forgive him. He hoped Merlin would forgive him, if for no other reason than _no one else_ would never let him live it down.

It was past five when they find the right brownstone, and bundle out of the van with the camera and equipment. It was cold, and Arthur swore loudly that no one in their right mind would live somewhere this cold. Olwen, the woman with the mic, rolled her eyes at him and said, "It's just November, stop being a baby." Arthur paused at the door and took a deep breath before knocking.

When the door opened he found himself confronted with a giant of a man, He wasn't as tall as Leon, or as broad as Percy, but he was still imposing, and now that Arthur knew who he was, really obviously related to Merlin.

"Why the fuck are there cameras on my stoop? Go bother a Lohan and leave me the fuck alone." the man said, moving to close the door. Arthur jammed his foot in the door to keep it from closing all the way.

"Um, I'm Arthur Pendragon, I'm the one that hired Merlin. Is he here? I'd like to talk to him about," Arthur paused, trying to think quickly, "DVD extras."

Balinor glared and closed the door in Arthur's face. Arthur felt a moment of defeat. All that way and all that jet lag, and he wouldn't even be able to apologize in person. He knew he looked pathetic standing there, with his head down and holding his coat closed against the chill. He looked up at the crew, and both of them were giving him narrow-eyed glares, although they were going to get paid for the job no matter what, so they didn't have much room to complain. Just as Arthur was putting himself back together to make a decision on what to do next, the door opened again.

"Would you please get in here, you're embarrassing yourself," Merlin said, standing aside to let them in. He led them to a comfortably furnished room, where his father was already seated. Ignoring Arthur, he reached out to shake hands with the crew.

"I'm Merlin, and this is my father, Tony." Balinor made a gesture that was equal parts greeting and probably obscene in some cultures.

The man with the camera stepped forward and grasped Merlin's hand. "I'm Culhwch, that's Olwen." he said, nodding towards her. "Where can we stash these?"

"My office is through that door," Tony said, pointing behind them. They put down their equipment and everyone sat in silence until finally Tony stood up.

"Fuck this, I'm making dinner. You want to join me in the kitchen?" he asked Culhwch and Olwen. They followed him out of the room. Arthur stood to join them, but Merlin pulled him to the side.

"What is wrong with you Arthur? What are you even doing here? It's been weeks since we've tried to have a conversation, and you show up now, with fucking cameras. I don't want to be rude to people just doing their job, but why the hell did you think I would just go along with you ambushing me on camera?"

"Ambush? No, I wanted you to see that I was serious about apologizing. I brought witnesses, I'm willing to film it for posterity. We fixed everything with Ambrosia, and got those cultists to back off. Morgana even got Katie Couric to interview Gaius. I thought the crew could film the happy ending."

"Happy ending?" Merlin said incredulously. "I'm working on my happy ending. Although I suppose I should thank you. I would never have tried to work in New York if it hadn't been for you, Arthur."

Arthur stepped back to try and put some more space between them. They were too close, and it was making it hard to explain himself, when all he wanted to do was kiss Merlin until he was forgiven.

"Look, I know I've screwed this up, and have been completely stupid about this whole thing, but I'd like to start over with you, and actually try and maybe have a relationship." Arthur couldn't quite bring himself to look Merlin in the eye, he focused on Merlin's shoulder, since he knew he wouldn't get through his speech otherwise. "Being bi-coastal would be hard; but I'm willing to try it if you need to stay here. Pendragon Broadcasting has offices here; Father would probably be willing to let me try my hand at one of our other subsidiaries. I'd kind of like to talk him into letting Leon take my place with the team anyway. But there are options, and I can find a place in the company that lets me travel more if I have too. Or you know, you could always come back to the Bay, now that we've fixed everything, and you've still got friends and family and a band there. We'd also like you to do a second season." Arthur finally had to pause to breathe.

Merlin let out a strangled laugh. "Arthur, I can't do this with you. God help me, I really like you, and if I could be the guy that could just think with his heart, and make the choices I want to, instead of the ones I need to, I'd probably fall for this, and follow you back to California. But right now, I don't think you really know what you want, and I need to know that I'm good enough to do this on my own."

"Merlin, please." Arthur decided he needed to make a grand gesture. He grabbed Merlin's hand and stepped closer into his space until their foreheads touched. He took it as a positive sign that Merlin didn't step away. "I know I'm terrible at this. In fact it's likely that neither one of us will ever be good at just saying what we're thinking. But I do know something about having a father that you're in the shadow of. I know what it's like to know that if you do things better than him, then it's only because you're his son, and if you're not as good, or if you want to do something different, then you're a disappointment, maybe not to him, but to everyone else.

"The thing is Merlin, you're always going to be your father's son. You've had opportunities that other people just haven't had. The question is, will history remember you as the son of Tony Balinor, or him as the father of Merlin Emrys-Balinor?" Arthur paused, because Merlin looked stunned into silence, and rather than wait for him to speak, and maybe mock him for his speech, he changed topics.

"Have you started your new job yet?"

Merlin blinked rapidly, as if he were trying to focus, and gave Arthur a small self-deprecating smile. "No, apparently when Taliesin Baird said he wanted me for the Crystal Cave, what he meant was he wanted me to interview for the Crystal Cave. There are five other candidates, and I just had my cooking interview two days ago."

"How do you think you're doing?"

"I'm fairly sure I'm the front runner for the job, but I don't know for sure."

"Are you really prepared to live here in the winter? I mean it's fucking freezing out there. And it's still fall."

"Arthur, you're ridiculous."

Before he could dignify that with a response, Tony was yelling at Merlin from the kitchen.

"If you're done making up with your boyfriend, get in here and help me with dinner."

Merlin grinned at Arthur and pulled him along behind him toward the kitchen. "Come on, we'll talk more after food."

It was fascinating to watch Merlin and his father work together. It was a combination of efficient professionalism and familial comfort that made Arthur feel like he was witnessing something truly special. Tony let the camera crew film it, since they already had their cameras. He did however brandish a knife at Arthur to make sure Arthur understood how rare this was and how privileged they were to film inside his home, and that they were not to make a habit of it. They ate and talked and Arthur supposed that there were worse ways to meet the parents, and he didn't let himself dwell on how to introduce Merlin to _his_ father.

Tony kicked everyone out of the kitchen so he could clean up, supposedly because Merlin put things in the wrong places ("More efficient places, Dad!"). Merlin promised to get him back to his hotel in one piece, so rather than continue to pay the film crew by the hour, Arthur sent them home. Before they left, Culhwch and Olwen promised to get him an edit tomorrow. Merlin helped him bring his luggage in, and then risked his father's ire by returning to the kitchen in order to grab them both a couple of beers. Once they were both seated on the couch, Arthur realized it was the closest they'd been to alone together, since that horrible drive back to Oakland.

"I suppose we should talk about something." Arthur said to fill the silence.

"You still need to apologize." Merlin laughed, as he took a swig of his beer.

"I can't do that, it would set a bad precedent." Arthur was relieved that Merlin didn't expect him to _actually_ say the words. Being the son of Uther Pendragon meant never saying you're sorry. Although from observation of his father, it did mean occasionally settling out of court.

"I'd only be setting myself up for disappointment if I expected them, but we could work on that."

"Would you _want_ to work on that?" Arthur winced, worried he didn't hide how hopeful he was.

Merlin sighed. "Maybe? I thought coming out here would be the best choice. Everything that happened was my fault; the fight with you just proved it." Arthur started to protest, but Merlin waved him off. "If I hadn't been so desperate to keep my secrets, none of this would have happened. I couldn't risk the restaurant closing because of me.

"But this thing with Crystal Cave," he paused, "I wanted to learn from Taliesin, and prove that I deserved to be in this city with some of the world's best chefs. The only thing I've learned is that in this town, I'd have to work for years before I'll have the freedom that I have at Ambrosia. But I don't know how to go back."

"Going back is easy, we call Leon, and he books us a flight." Arthur said as he surreptitiously moved closer to Merlin.

"Arthur..." Merlin looked doubtful, as he pulled away so that he could face Arthur.

"I mean it, Merlin, I didn't come up with this plan to win you back to Oakland all on my own. I was, as far as I've been able to piece together, selected by the majority to get the job done." Arthur fought the urge to cup Merlin's jaw. He wanted to wipe away that doubt, but he wasn't completely sure how to do it.

"So you were press-ganged into it?" He almost sounded disappointed.

"I wanted you to come back too. Granted, Leon had to speak slowly and use small words to get a few things through my head, but once he did, I was on the first flight I could get." Arthur set his beer bottle on the floor, before throwing caution to the wind and wrapping his fingers around Merlin's wrist. "Can we start over? I'll try to be less oblivious this time."

"That might take more work than apologies." Merlin said, as he dipped his head and gave Arthur a soft smile.

"If you're looking for work, I know someone who's hiring." Arthur put his other hand on Merlin's neck to tangle his fingers in Merlin's hair. "Interested?"

"I think I might be," Merlin said, leaning in for a kiss.

[ ](http://youtu.be/tKDXe0FP2wc)

**Epilogue**   
_One year later_

"Sorry I'm late," Arthur said, sliding into the dark leather booth. "My father seems to have decided that giving me full executive control over _Food TV_ doesn't preclude him from lecturing me about everything he thinks I'm doing wrong."

"Pennies in the Well just started their last set," Merlin said, giving Arthur's hand a quick squeeze under the table. "We've still got another twenty minutes before we go on, and it doesn't count as late unless you actually miss me playing."

Morgana turned from the table she was sharing with Lance and Gwen to lean over the back of the booth so she could talk to Arthur. "It wasn't about _VegLife_ , was it? If Father went to _you_ over _my_ show..."

"Relax," Arthur said. "Father hasn't said a word about it to me. Either he doesn't know yet, or he just doesn't care. He was giving me grief about pushing Catrina to an earlier slot, since he doesn't seem to be able to grasp that her biggest viewership is housewives, and they're busy with their kids during prime time."

Arthur still wondered if agreeing to let Morgana oversee the station's new vegetarian lifestyle show was the best idea, considering that now he would have to listen to her and Uther argue about it over holiday dinners. But by all accounts, she was doing an amazing job, and the reaction from the vegetarian blogosphere to the show's first promotional spot last week had been phenomenal. Arthur supposed that sort of reception was worth a little family drama.

"If you two want to keep talking about work," Merlin said in the deceptively mild tone that Arthur had learned meant he was treading on thin ice, "I can go sit with Gwaine and Percy."

"No," Arthur said quickly, making shooing motions at his sister that earned him a very dirty look before Morgana rolled her eyes and turned back around. "I've had more than enough work for today."

He glanced sideways at Merlin. "Although," he continued, feigning nonchalance, "if you don't want me to talk about work at all, I supposed I'll have to save the news about _your_ show for some other time."

"Arthur," Merlin said warningly. "What did you hear?"

"Well," Arthur said, unable to keep his grin under wraps any longer, "it's just that I happened to receive a phone call this afternoon."

"A phone call," Merlin repeated.

"Mm-hmm," Arthur said, nodding. "From the TASTY Awards advisory board. Seems _A Wizard in the Kitchen_ has been named as a finalist in two categories."

Merlin stared at him. "Oh my god," he whispered. Then, louder, "Oh my _god_ , Arthur. I can't believe we were nominated at all, but for _two_ categories? Are you sure?"

"Technically," Arthur said, "the show was nominated for three, but only made it to the finalist list for Best New Series and Best Chef in a Series."

"Best chef?" Merlin looked dazed. "Best _chef_."

"That would be you," Arthur said.

"I _know_ that," Merlin said, kicking his shin lightly. "Ass."

"If you're going to be like that," Arthur said, "I can drink the champagne by myself."

Merlin laughed. "I don't think this is the kind of place that sells champagne." Arthur thought he was probably right.

"Not _here_. There's a bottle chilling in my fridge." A nice bottle, too. Arthur had called Lance for suggestions. "I thought I might convince you to come over after the show so that I can congratulate you."

"Congratulate me, huh?"

"Among other things," Arthur admitted.

"Mm, you can ‘among other things' me anytime you want, Pendragon," Merlin said, leaning in for a kiss.

"Oh, I intend to, Chef Emrys," Arthur murmured. "I intend to."

[ ](http://youtu.be/2-4Pz3Vhv-A)


End file.
